Well Behaved Women Seldom Kick Butt
by Velvet Nights and Satin Skies
Summary: As Amy and Sam embark on their quest to save Merry and Pippin, Lizzie launches an evil plan of her own. While the Fellowship struggles to save Middle Earth, Amy and Legolas struggle with their own emotions. And Sam just wants to kick some major butt.
1. Sweaty Feet And Evil Laughs

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait and short chapter. I hate writing about Lizzie; therefore, I only wrote like two paragraphs about her. Enjoy. Oh, and does anyone want to hazard a guess who the Silver Stag is? Cookie to whoever guesses correctly!**

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><p>One foot at a time.<p>

That's all that she concentrated on. One foot in front of the other.

They had been running for two days and two nights. Amy had point-blank collapsed twice, her headache swallowing her exhaustion, and Sam had to stop marching, go back, and soothe Amy's fever-savaged body. Everything ached, a dull, steady throb like the beat of her heart. Blisters had melded together on the bottoms of her feet, gathering into one huge infected heel that was cutting through her like a bear trap. Several times she had been tempted to just throw herself on the ground and refuse to move any farther. Her lungs were filled with liquid fire, scalding the interior of her throat. Her brown hair, usually messy and shaggy, was a briar's nest with tangles the size of her fist matted at her scalp. Sweat slicked her body, and her mind was functioning at the speed of a dead hamster on a hamster wheel. She stopped again, dropping her hands to her knees as she struggled for breath. Amy was behind her, slowed to practically a crawl as she dragged herself up the hill. The country was filled with rippling little swells that were too small to be mountains but too large to be hills. Everything had swollen together into one big hill in Amy's mind. The two girls exchanged glances, Amy's feverish eyes almost closed, red face blotchy with exhaustion. Sam summoned up the last remains of her saliva and called out. "Hey!" she shouted hoarsely, her voice rasping like the tongue of a cat. "Hey, Aragorn!"

The ranger halted, swinging around, and loped easily back to the girls. He looked just as tired, but more put together than the shredded girls. He looked at Amy with concern. "Is there something wrong, Lady Samantha?" he asked, panting. Legolas, hearing him, came darting back over the plains with the grace of a young deer. He pounced over a boulder and landed by Aragorn, blue eyes cerulean with concern. Gimli plodded along, determined to catch up to the group.

Sam gestured angrily at Amy. "She can't go on. _I_ can't go on. We're bushed, Aragorn. You guys might have all the energy in the world, but we can't keep running like this. Where are we, anyway?" Sam asked hoarsely, struggling to keep Amy upright. The redhead pressed her knuckles to her eyes, fighting gamely to stay awake. Her bloodied head was pounding, and her vision was foggy. Distantly, she heard Sam and Aragorn carrying on a conversation, but thought nothing of it.

"We are abutting the plains of Rohan, Lady Samantha. We will stop for a brief moment. Legolas, do we have any rations left?" he asked. The blonde elf rummaged in his pack for a moment and withdrew a leaf-wrapped piece of _lembas_ bread. Aragorn snapped it into five pieces. "'Twill not help your hunger much, but it will keep you alive," Aragorn said. Amy took her piece of _lembas_ with a sluggish, underwater kind of quality. Her numb fingers didn't feel the bread in her hands. Sam bolted hers down in a single chew, then helped Amy swallow her dry, sweet bread. The girls leaned on each other, still panting. A waterskin, only half full of water, was passed around. Amy felt the cool water soothe her ragged throat, and she licked her lips dryly, catching the last bit of moisture.

They paused, saying nothing for a good five minutes, and then wordlessly, Aragorn began to run. Legolas was right behind him, and Gimli got to his feet with a groan. The girls limped for a few yards, and then began to jog slowly. They still had a long ways to go.

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><p>Lizzie felt her teeth clicking together unpleasantly as the Uruk marched behind his comrades. Her hands had been bound around his neck with a piece of thick, ragged rope. She strained uncomfortably against the ropes. Being tied up had <em>not<em> been part of the plan, and being piggybacked on a big, sweaty, smelly monster hadn't either. She shifted, trying to fix her blonde hair without choking the Uruk. The Uruks communicated in a fashion of guttural grunts, with a few English words mixed in. They were positively enormous, big black bodies loping with inhuman, primal elegance. She locked her jaw, scowling. Her tongue had been bitten too many times, and her wrists were chafing too harshly. But anything beat walking. None of the Uruks had stopped or slowed in the slightest; if anything, their speed had increased. For food, rotten bread had been circulated as the Uruk-hai ran. Not a crumb had been given to Lizzie or the Hobbits, but Lizzie wouldn't have accepted it anyway. The bread was alive with maggots and weevils; the last thing Lizzie wanted to eat was something _that_ disgusting.

But there is one good thing about being tied atop a huge, sweaty, slimy monster: it gives excellent time to think. Lizzie was not a dumb girl. Yes, perhaps she cared a little too much about the state of her dress, makeup, and other various accessories, but she had managed a four-point-oh in school. Considering she was taking courses such as "The History Of Fashion" and "Movie Critique", those aren't such splendid credentials, but Lizzie was crafty. Contrary to what Amy believed, they were not doomed. Lizzie had watched the movie a good deal more carefully than she had let on, seeing as practically every scene there had been a hot guy. The scenes between Saruman and Gandalf were a little fuzzy, but she had practically memorized every scene with Legolas, Aragorn, Eomer, or Haldir in it. So now Lizzie settled herself against the sweaty Uruk and began to think. To rule Middle Earth, she would need the Ring. And to get the Ring, she needed a plan. Amy and Sam were always getting in the way...A sly smile curled one side of her mouth, and she chuckled slightly. Had another person been listening, they would have said it was the evil laugh of every super villain.

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><p>Sam fell to her knees, plunging up two furrows of earth as her legs buckled beneath her. She couldn't move. Not another step. Her mind, soul, and body was entirely on fire. Her eyes were slitted with exhaustion, and there was a gauzy film of gray over everything. Then again, it could have been the approaching darkness, but she doubted it. Her vision was clouding because she needed to sleep, eat, and bathe. Never in her life had she run so far and so fast; everything was shutting down. Both chocolate brown eyes fluttered closed, and she slumped on all fours, swallowing deep, cooling breaths in her savaged lungs. There was a gentle mist falling lightly from the sky, dampening her cheeks and lashes, running chilly blankets of moisture against her burning skin. She looked up, seeing Amy flat on her back a few paces ahead of her.<p>

And as she watched, something happened.

The beautiful, majestic silver stag was bounding behind them, tail flicking daintily in the rain. The huge glassy eyes pierced Sam to the bone, driving away the sizzling heat of her head and the raw chill of the rain. The stag slowed to a steady trot, leaping delicately from one dry tuft of grass to the next. It gave the appearance of a lady lifting her skirts to avoid getting wet. The buck drew up alongside Amy, lowering its white muzzle to huff a little warm breath on the unconscious redhead. Sam was so close to it she could see the little clouds of white air pluming from its nose. The stag nuzzled Amy's freckled cheeks a little, nibbling lightly on her fiery hair and small ears, and then trotted away. Amy's eyes didn't open, but Sam saw her chest rise and fall. Slowly, she pushed herself to her knees and got up. Her green eyes were open and alert, lashes wide as she began running again. Sam could see the new spring in her step, the new life in her pose as she ran after Legolas and Aragorn. Amy bore no signs of seeing the deer; but the stag looked after her with something akin to affection in those sharp dark eyes. And then those beautiful eyes, rimmed thickly with long black lashes, turned to Sam, who was still on all fours.

It picked its way over lazily, swishing its tufted tail as it skirted puddles. When it was no more than a foot away, it stopped. Chocolate eyes met deep black, the two of them melding and bonding as they looked at each other. There was a weightlessness, where not time or space existed in those eyes. Sam could have looked at them forever. And then, something like warm water trickled down her back, flowing softly into her arms and legs, soothing the weary muscles and tender feet. The blisters - which had been throbbing like hot coals - now cooled and became a long forgotten memory. A warm breath curved along her sweaty face, like a memory of a kiss.

_Courage, little one_.

Wordlessly, Sam began to run.


	2. Ouch, Sam's Mad

**A/N: James Potter…the idea! No, you silly gooses! I will say that one of you was right…hehe. But keep guessing! Oh yeah, and REVIEW!**

Lizzie was roughly jolted awake in the rudest, smelliest, nastiest way possible. The Uruk which had been piggybacking her promptly unhooked her arms from his neck and tossed her on the ground. Lizzie, with the perfect blonde hair and baby blue eyes, the flawless hourglass, the long legs, was tossed right into a mud puddle. Not just a little bit of water, mind you, but a big splotchy mud patch that stuck to her legs and arms and smeared her face fantastically like some obscene war paint. Lizzie swore, loudly, for a very long time, as she scraped the filth from her body. Whimpering pathetically, she bemoaned the state of her clothes, which were now sweaty, muddy, and torn from the countless jabs from the Uruk's sharp armor.

She arranged herself, still growling silently, trying to comb the dirt clumps from her hair with her fingers. Unfortunately, this was only with limited success. Wiping her fingers on her muddy pants, she looked around, noting the Orcs scampering hastily into the dense forest that was only a stone's throw away. Lizzie scrutinized the treeline. They looked old, impossibly large, bedecked with green lichen and fuzzy black moss. The leaves and branches had slowly grown together over the years, forming a sturdy bracket above the huge trees that looked firm enough to walk on. Odd moans and creaks emanated from the woods as Orcs hacked away at the limbs, carrying back thick green branches still oozing new sap. With a bit of coaxing from some Orcish fuel, the green wood was soon ablaze, smoking heavily because of the wet limbs.

Soon the ration packs were sorted out, havversacks being torn as small groups squabbled over petty food. There was precious little bread to be had, and the only bits that were left were a boiling mass of weevils and maggots. Despite their crawling food, the Uruks and Orcs scooped down handfuls of the nasty stuff, gritting the bugs between their blackened fangs as they swallowed the dry bread. The fire snapped and crackled darkly, clouds of black smoke streaming into Lizzie's eyes. She coughed several times, and then began slowly wriggling away from the thick plumes. Her eyes reddened and watering, throat scratchy, Lizzie crawled on her belly away from the smoke. Unluckily, one of the Orcs spotted the movement, and it's black eyes lit up. "Why can't we 'ave some meat?" It whined, bright black eyes trained on Lizzie's plump form. Lizzie turned around, mouth forming into a perfect 'o'.

"Yeah! We ain't 'ad nothin' but maggoty bread fer three stinkin' days!" A Uruk boomed, scattering crumbs from its clenched fist.

Another Orc caught Lizzie in their gaze. "What about 'er?" it squealed in a nasally, grating voice. "She's fresh!"

Lizzie pulled herself hard into an upright position, scrambling to her feet. Several Uruks leapt to their feet, ready to give chase to their prey at a moments notice. Lizzie forced herself to be calm, and assumed an angry look on her face.

"All right, listen up!" Lizzie shouted. "I'm with Saruman, your master. I have some vital information that he _needs_ to hear." This wasn't penetrating their thick skulls. Lizzie abandoned reason and started screaming at the top of her lungs. "_If you don't do what I say, Sauron will kick your ass from here to Mordor! Got that, buddies_?"

Silence reigned, if only for the moment. Lizzie seized it eagerly. "Now, two of you are going to take me to Isenguard. If you don't like it, tough boogers. Now get up and start running."

The Uruks shuffled uncertainly for a split second, unsure of what to do. Should they follow the orders of this tiny human, or should they simply eat her? The gnaw of their stomachs were weighed against the pain of their master's lash, and eventually their master won out. There was a chance the human could be lying, but he wasn't about to take a chance. In a strangled barking noise, one of the Uruks signalled out another Uruk and an Orc to accompany Lizzie to Isenguard. "On the double!" he rasped in Common. Lizzie felt herself being hauled upright, and once again thrown painfully over the back of a sweaty, stinky Uruk. She looked back at Merry and Pippin, both of which were staring at her, horror-stricken. Lizzie managed a Miss America wave before she faced front, looking forward to where Isenguard would appear.

She could already smell victory.

09

Sam stopped, panting, the last vestiges of enthusiasm fading from her arms and legs. The silver stag had disappeared long ago, but the unnatural strength had remained like the ghostly twinges of a lost dream. Aragorn and Legolas were skirting off to the left, around a large patch of boulders, so Sam followed them. Ahead of her, Amy was leaning on a rock and looking every bit as tired as Sam. The two of them smelled to high heaven, and their hair was a total fright. Behind them, still staggering underneath the weight of his mail shirt, Gimli collapsed on top of a boulder. They waited there for a moment, catching their breath and devouring the last loaf of _lembas _bread. Amy chewed thoughtfully, long lashes almost closed as she squinted into the sunlight. There was an odd thumping noise, like the sound of an earthquake, rumbling distantly. She looked up, about to say something, when she saw Legolas touch a finger to his lips. Sam and Amy stayed quiet and still, grateful for the breather.

With all the speed of a young deer, Legolas bounded on top of a boulder and peered into the sun. He scrambled back down the boulder, looking excited and fearful both at once. "It is the Riders of Rohan," he said to Aragorn. "They may have news of our friends." Aragorn cautioned them to wait, and the five of them waited for the Rohirric men to pass by. When they did, both Sam and Amy couldn't restrain a gasp.

Huge horses of all brilliant shades thundered down the slope, hooves churning the muddied earth and cutting deep into the soil. Their flanks were damp with lather, and their manes were tangled and dirty. The sound was awesome, deeper than the lowest growl and louder than the largest thunderclap. The earth was splitting beneath their mighty hooves as the eored trampled down the hill. In the rays of the setting sun, the sight was completely enthralling. They all felt new life surge into them. Aragorn stepped out after the horses had passed. "Riders of Rohan! What news from this side of the Mark?" he shouted out, cupping a hand around his mouth to aid the sound. A crimson flag, trimmed with gold, was raised, and the entire contingent wheeled around in a single fluid motion. The horses moved as one as they hammered back up the slope, encircling the five of them and hemming them in. There was a clinking noise as spears were unsheathed, and suddenly Amy found the tip of a javelin uncomfortably close to her throat. Unconsciously, she shuffled closer to Legolas.

"What business does a man, an elf, a dwarf, and two women have in the Mark?" One of them said. All that could be seen beneath his helmet was a stubbled chin, and the dark shock of horsehair from his helmet intermingled with his blonde curls. His voice was gruff and businesslike, gravel trimmed with granite as he demanded an answer. "Speak quickly!"

"Give me your name, horse-master, and we shall lend ours," Gimli snapped, equally gruff. The man dismounted in one lithe motion, his blade jumping to his fist. The edge of it was dangerously close to Gimli's neck as the man answered. This time his tone was not as gruff, but smoother, and Amy had a sinking feeling that he was absolutely livid.

"I would cut off your head, Master Dwarf, beard and all, if it stood but a bit higher from the ground." the man snarled. There was a sudden flurry of movement, and Legolas has his bow out, an arrow ready to fire. His normally serene expression was twisted in a fierce growl.

"I warn you, this arrow would strike before your blow fell!" Legolas warned, muscles taut with strain. The lances edged a little closer, and Amy made a little frightened noise in her throat. Sam squeezed her hand tightly, the fingers interlacing as the two friends sound solace in their locked hands. There was a split second of frozen silence, and then Aragorn put a restraining hand on Legolas's bow. The arrow was lowered, and some of the tension in Legolas's form lessened.

"We are friends of Rohan, and of your king," Aragorn answered. "We mean no ill-will towards you and your eored, captain."

The man hesitated, and then tugged off his helmet. Blonde curls spilled forth, revealing a handsome, striking profile and deep-set brown eyes. They were not so different from Sam's own sharp gaze; watchful, flickering from face to face as if trying to see some wrongdoing. The spears drew away from the little knot of travelers, and Amy released her grip on Sam's hand. The young captain had a wistful look in his eye as he answered. "Theoden is our king, may he live forever," he sighed. "And yet, he no longer recognizes friend from foe. His once great mind has begun playing tricks on him. And now he sees no friends, only enemies." His voice dropped to a rough whisper. "And he does not see his own kin."

Aragorn's eyes flickered with sympathy. "My condolences upon your king, my Lord. He was a mighty warrior."

The horselord shrugged, as if this were of no importance. "His mind has been poisoned by Saruman the White," he said simply. His voice sounded hollow, dim, as if the words had not yet fully sunk in. Or perhaps he had heard them so many times they had made him numb. "My eored and I are the last remnants faithful to Theoden. For that, we have been banished from Edoras." His chocolate gaze settled on Legolas, whose jaw was still locked with fury. "The White Wizard is crafty. He walks hither and yon, the folksmen say, as an ancient man with a long cloak. Everywhere, his spies leak our secrets to the White Wizard." He locked eyes with Legolas.

"But we're not spies!" Amy piped up, desperately. Her voice was high-pitched from the disuse, and she looked pleadingly at the horselord. "Really, we're not! Please, we're only looking for two Hobbits."

Legolas's hand found Amy's hand and gripped it firmly. There was a little tingle of shock as their bare skin made contact, but Amy disregarded it. He was warning her to be silent, to leave the arguing with the adults. Amy hung her head shamefacedly, red curls hanging in her face like a curtain. The horselord looked for a long moment at the group, and then shook his head.

"These Hobbits...what did they look like?" He asked slowly. Aragorn's head shot up, piercing the man with his steel gray eyes.

"They were taken captive by a band of Uruk-hai," he said. "We have tracked them westward for nigh on three days." Aragorn finished. The man looked taken aback, and then his brow furrowed.

"The Uruks had been destroyed. My eored and I slaughtered them in the night." The horselord said slowly, as if trying to speak to a dim child. Gimli looked shocked and horrified.

"But there were two Hobbits! Did you see two hobbits with them?" he pleaded. The noble dwarf couldn't keep the grief from his voice as he asked, and the horselord inclined his head sympathetically.

"They would be small, only children to your eyes," Aragorn said. The horselord spoke very firmly, very quietly, as if breaking awful news to a dear friend.

"We left none alive."

Dull shock rippled through Sam. Merry and Pippin? Her two friends, inseparable through any situation? Pippin, always ready with a cheerful story and a laugh; Merry, ready for mischief and a ballad. She had grown to love the intolerable duo, loved their impish ways, their innocence. Her head shot up; her grief had melted away into a hot, blinding anger that was turning her vision crimson. With an indistinct shriek of rage, she pounced on the horselord. Lances were suddenly close again as Sam's left fist connected solidly with his cheek, whipping his head to the side. It was a pathetic blow to a hardened warrior, but the reverb rippled up her arm. The horselord fended her off with one elbow as he wiped blood from his mouth, looking as though he had just been trampled by a rogue plane. Aragorn pinned Sam to his chest as he struggled to keep her under control. Sam sank her teeth into his wrist and once more tried to hurl herself at Eomer.

"YOU ASS! HOW DARE YOU!" She spat and clawed, hissed and scratched, pummeling armor and flesh alike as she was restrained by Legolas. "YOU KILLED MY FRIENDS!"

Amy sank to the ground, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed.


	3. It's Peanut Butter Snuggle Time!

**A/N: It's peanut butter snuggle time! A peanut butter snuggle, a peanut butter snuggle, a peanut butter snuggle with a Leg-o-las…**

**And, if you would be so kind, REVIEW!**

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><p>The smooth expanse of white flank in front of Amy made her shiver. The horse was enormous. How could anybody expect her to climb on effortlessly, settle herself into the saddle, and ride off into the sunset? The three horses left behind by Eomer would be excellent instead of walking, but Amy didn't want to look like an idiot in front of Legolas. For some reason, this was mattering more and more to her every day. The blonde elf was absently stroking the nose of the bay horse and talking in a low voice with Aragorn, probably discussing traveling plans. Sam was fuming, still grief-stricken from the loss of her friends. It had taken the better part of ten minutes to convince her to ride with them so they could go see if the Hobbits were alive or not. Amy didn't want to go see either; she knew about Sam's special relationship with the Hobbits, but anything dead made Amy shudder. And judging by the way the wind was drifting lazily across her nose, they had burnt the corpses to a cinder. Amy pulled her cloak tighter around her and shivered, wishing for nothing more than a hot bath and a good book. Legolas's sharp eyes caught Amy's shiver, and he turned away from Aragorn. "Estel," he murmured in Elvish. "We should get going."<p>

Aragorn nodded, kicking himself into the saddle with ease. Amy looked on with a twisted frown, wondering how on earth she was going to get onto this gigantic horse. To her chagrin, Sam didn't see any problems with getting on the horse; she just slipped her foot through the stirrup and hauled herself up. Gimli settled himself in front of Sam, and the brunette took the reins with a confident air. She was still sniffing, swiping at her eyes to hide the tears, but Amy knew that Sam didn't grieve for very long. Sam just wanted to make someone pay, to make herself feel better. That's the way it had always been; Sam had always protected her from bullies at school. Amy was jolted from her reverie by Legolas, who touched her elbow lightly. "Amy?" he asked. "Would you prefer to ride with me or Aragorn?"

A little thrill ran through Amy when Legolas said her name. Licking her lips nervously, she glanced at Aragorn. She didn't want to be so close to Legolas, but there was something deliciously tempting about snuggling down against a hard chest and sleeping for a bit. Of course, she could do this with Aragorn, but it wouldn't be the same. So, in a split second, Amy sealed her fate. Her green eyes flicked upwards, meeting with the clear azure orbs of Legolas. "I'll ride with you," she said softly. "But..." Her bottom lip was drawn into her mouth as she chewed it nervously. "I don't actually know how to ride a horse," she said with a sheepish expression. Her fingers twirled in the coarse mane. "I mean, I've seen horses before, but this guy is like _huge_."

"A simple matter, Amy," Legolas said. "Here, I'll give you a leg up." He cupped his hands into a lace and boosted Amy into the saddle. She slung her leg over the side and clenched her knees to the horse's barrel sides, clinging desperately to the pommel of the saddle. She was suddenly, dizzyingly high above the ground. It looked like a mile away from here. She kept her eyes trained on the midday horizon, and felt her hands grow damp on the saddle. Legolas leapt into the saddle with the grace of a cat, and took the reins from Amy's frightened hands. He hid a smile when he saw Amy look at him untrustingly, worried green eyes drawn together and lips curled in a little pout.

A thought, unbidden, blossomed like a flower in the back of his mind: _Elbereth, she looks beautiful._ And then he dismissed it. Amy was far from beautiful; Legolas had seen true beauty in Mirkwood, with statuesque elleths with honey-colored skin. And yet this little human with the wild red curls was drawing him in like a bee to a bud. Those round green eyes, rimmed with those dark lashes, were enchanting. He gave himself a firm mental shake. He was merely looking for female companionship, that was all. He needed to keep his mind off of the girl who was ... sleeping against his chest?

They had barely begun to move and Amy was already asleep. She couldn't help herself. Legolas's arms bracketed her firmly, keeping her warm and safe. His chest was hard and despite days of running he smelled of cinnamon and mossy green forests. She buried her nose in his chest, inhaling the heady scents as she drifted off into slumber. Had she looked up at that moment, she would have seen an inexplicable smile suddenly quirk the corner of Legolas's mouth as he drew Amy closer to him.

Saving the world could wait for a few minutes.

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><p>Lizzie had had enough. Her jaw was aching from being clenched, her tongue scored with numerous bites, and her head was throbbing from the monotony of it all. Above everything else, the Uruks stank to high heaven. The ropes, which had only chafed two days ago, had now torn bloody red welts into her wrists and were prickling unpleasantly. Her fingers felt numb from the brisk cold which was nipping any exposed skin. The smelly Orc seemed not to notice it, and Lizzie bit back an unpleasant snarl. Her hair, her beautiful, blonde, shimmering hair was a tangled mess. The once-manicured nails were ragged and caked with filth. Her clothes, which had been nice by Elvish standards, were torn, muddy, sweaty, and bloody. And it was beginning to rain; fat drops of moisture were leaking from the thunderous skies. As the rain began to bounce off the Uruk's dirty armor, Lizzie felt a tantrum coming on. She would have thrown one a long time ago except Isenguard had been in sight for the past two hours, and this had given her new hope. What she hadn't realized was that Isenguard was gigantic, and getting there would be no easy task.<p>

Four nights and five days of jostling, jarring, knocking. Five days of complete unpleasantness. Four nights of awful wounds. Nearly a month without a proper bath. And nearly two months since she had been lying on her bed painting her nails. Lizzie felt her eyes narrow. All of it was about to pay off. Because the Gates of Isenguard were open, welcoming them back. A vicious smile curled her lips, exposing tiny white incisors that gleamed in the sunlight. Oh, did she have things to tell Sauron. She would begin by telling him a bit about the world she came from, to prove who she was. And then she would tell him about the books, which she would outline him carefully, racking every memory from her mind. They would plan battle strategies together. She would reign triumphant above them all, standing atop a pinnacle of broken lives and slaughtered innocents, darkly beautiful against the bland gray sky. Yes, Saruman and Sauron would help her achieve all this.

And then, when she was fully established as Ruler of the Universe, she would dispose of them both. A little sneer twitched her nose. Yes, that would suit them very nicely. Something silent and unknown? A slipped poison in their nightly beverage? A swift dagger to the back? Or something a little more flashy and loud, like throwing them to a pit of writhing black snakes? A river full of chomping crocodiles, jagged yellow teeth open to receive their victims? Perhaps she could hang them as public traitors. The Uruks jostled her roughly, dispatching the daydream from her head as the large black doors swung open.

Lizzie was knocked none-too-gently off the Uruk's sweaty back. She relished the feeling of being on the cool marble. A ceiling of impossible heights stretched away, and the only furnishing in the room was a simple, rough-hewn stone pedestal. Lizzie turned up her nose as the tasteless colors. Seriously, why did everything have to be black marble and sharp edges? A bit of dark blue swirled with mysterious purple would look just as menacing, and twice as fashionable. Perhaps a throw pillow or two, and of course, a luxurious throne for Her Majesty. She heard the sound of wood thumping sharply on the hard floors, and from her upside-down position, she could only see the hem of a stark white robe. The bottom two inches of a polished white staff were flawless, and Lizzie eyed it appreciatively. A pretty scepter like that would do very nicely in the fist of Her Empress.

"Who is this wretch?" The high, cold voice snapped, the very sound of frost coating a pond. The Uruks, who had been very sure of themselves five minutes ago, now felt very stupid for leaving their regiment.

"A spy, my Lord," the Orc grunted, hoarse voice rasping over its words. "She wishes to speak with your Lordship about something."

"And what might that be, worm?" Saruman asked, the tip of his staff resting delicately between the swells of her breasts, directly above her heart. Lizzie shivered, closing her eyes. His staff was icy cold. Silently, she mentally arranged what she was about to say.

"I know the future," she said. Okay, not bad.

He did not remove the icy staff from her chest, but instead pushed a little harder. A numb feeling, like being frostbitten, was stealing over Lizzie. "Lies," Saruman hissed. "Utter lies from a contemptible wretch."

"It's true!" Lizzie said, eyes flashing open. "You're going to lose, Saruman." A vicious smile once again flickered on her lips. "But I can help you win. I have information that you _need_ to hear."

Saying a phrase like that to a super arch-villain is just asking for trouble. Everybody knows how insecure they are.

"Take her to the dungeons," Saruman ordered, the wintery bite still in his voice. "Bring her to me when I call." Lizzie offered no resistance as she was dragged away, but instead, her smile widened.

Phase one was about to begin.

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><p>Amy woke abruptly and completely, as though someone had yelled in her ear. The rhythmic jarring sensation from the horse had stopped, and she stayed absolutely still in Legolas's arms. She wanted to prolong this moment, to stay for just five more seconds in Legolas's warm embrace. She wanted to roll over, go back to sleep, and never wake up. But there was a light laugh in her ear, and Legolas's warm breath danced across her vulnerable neck. This awoke Amy like nothing else. "Good morning, Lady Amy," Legolas murmured in her ear. "I thought you would sleep all day."<p>

She twisted in his arms, righting herself and pulling away from his sinful embrace. "The same to you," she yawned, stretching. It was a languid motion that cracked every ligament in her back, and then she relaxed again. Legolas slid off the horse, holding the reins and saddle steady as Amy dismounted awkwardly. She was suddenly alarmingly close to Legolas's chest, the dark red curls tickling his chin, but then the moment passed. A blush skimmed her cheeks, and she hurried after Sam. She missed the momentary flare of hunger in Legolas's blue eyes.

A pile of smoking corpses were exuding fog into the morning, thick plumes of dark smoke roiling from them. A sawn-off Uruk-hai head had been jutted upon a stake and thrust into the ground. "Gross," Sam mumbled, eyeing the head. More smoke boiled from the heap of bodies as Gimli stirred them with his axe. There was nothing but dead bodies, the rancid stench of burnt flesh and oily hair. Hot tears sprang to Sam's eyes, and a hard lump swelled in her throat, preventing her from breathing. Merry and Pippin's smiling faces swam to the forefront of her mind, and she fought a sob. Gone. Her friends. A dim clang echoed as Aragorn kicked a helmet, roaring his anger at the dull gray sky. A silent sob racked her body as she clenched her knuckles, wanting to strike out at the world and beat them bloody. Eomer and his eored had even denied her the utter satisfaction of killing the Uruks herself. Sam was so deep in gauzy layers of rage and anger that she almost didn't hear Aragorn's idle remark.

"A Hobbit lay here."

One beat. Two beats. And then -

"_Where_?" Sam scrambled to his side, dark hair swinging in her face as she struggled to see what he saw in the tracks. His calloused hands, adorned with his black signet ring, hovered above the ground as he crouched in the dirt, closely following the imprints.

"They crawled..."

_Noises, riders, black horses, the shrill scream of Orcs dying..._

"They're hands were bound,"

_Rough ropes biting into their wrists, blood streaming from their hands from the constant chafing..._

Aragorn picked up a severed rope. "They're bonds were cut..."

_"Merry! Hurry, over here!" Sawing their bonds fast and hard, Pippin slicing his knuckles as he ripped the ropes from his hands..._

He stood. "They went into Fangorn Forest." Aragorn looked uncertainly at the foreboding trees, the steady groans that came from the woods. Sam couldn't breathe. They were alive. Alive, but trapped in a forest. Anybody who knew Sam knows that she would go through hell and high-water to save her friends. Sam bared her teeth. She would get her friends back.

"What madness drove them in there?" Gimli asked. Amy drew closer to Legolas, steeling herself to do the boldest thing she had done in her life. She intertwined her fingers with his, gripping his hand tightly to hers. She kept her eyes ahead determinedly, not daring to look at Legolas's tender expression. She would melt if she locked eyes with him again.

"I don't know," Sam snarled, "But I'm gonna go in there and find out."

_Watch out, world. Sam's on the loose._


	4. He's Bigger, He's Better, He's BACK!

**A/N: Enjoy this new chapter! Special thanks to the winner of our little Stag contest…but wait, I'm not going to announce it yet! You'll find out…eventually. Ain't I a stinkah? **

There was no recognizable path through Fangorn forest, merely little clearings grouped together by rambling trails which looped back on each other or stopped for no reason at all. The undergrowth was thick and thorns clung at Amy's ankles, snagging the skin and tearing it. The branches swooped low, hung with lichens and fuzzy moss, barring their way. The whole forest seemed intent on smothering them. Above, the leaves had melted together to form a dense canopy that let in little sunlight but plenty of heat. Amy felt sweat pooling on her temple as they trooped through the undergrowth, listening to the eerie groans of the forest. Sam boldly thrust her way through the bushes, ignoring the sharp purple thorns which tore nicks in her arms and neck, focusing instead on the jagged trail she was creating for the rest of them. Occasionally, she would cup a hand 'round her mouth and bellow for Merry and Pippin, startling dull gray birds from branches. The whole forest seemed to roar with her, the groans and cracks increasing until Amy wanted to scream. Everything was too loud. She forced her way through a particularly thorny bush, shielding her eyes with her hands as twigs snapped and grabbed tiny wooden fingers at the hem of her tunic.

Legolas's fingers were still tingling where Amy had held them. It was a gentle buzzing feeling that was sweeping through his arm, making his head light and his fingers hum. He had no idea why a human was having such an effect on him. It was the lack of feminine company, he decided. He hadn't gone this long without female companionship in many years. Surely that was the only reason. Surely he couldn't be developing ... he shuddered ... feelings for a _human_? No, he decided. As soon as he was back in Mirkwood, his head would be set on straight. Amy was a temporary distraction, he told himself sharply. She was a girl, a human, and not even from this world! Legolas would not sacrifice his immortality for any creature, despite a woman who had managed to enchant him. He would not allow her to alter his focus, even if her red curls roiled prettily down her back and her hips swayed gently ... Legolas cursed himself up and down for being a thrice-accursed fool. This could _not be happening_!

Aragorn was right behind Sam, clearing away some of the bushes with his arm as he waded through the muddy forest floor. Strange noises and red eyes glinted through screens of undergrowth, and his right hand automatically found the pommel of his sword. Something menacing stirred here, an ancient anger which had steeped into the very soil. Roots threaded ghostly fingers from the ground and grasped feebly at his boots; trailing vines fell heavily on his shoulders, slowing him yet further still. Gimli was cursing eloquently in Common and Dwarvish, hacking away at several limp strands of lichen that were intent on blocking his view. With every sweep of his axe, the forest grew louder. Finally, Aragorn wheeled around. "Gimli! Will you cease cutting away at these trees and get a move on?" Aragorn hissed between his teeth. Gimli gruffly lowered his axe, slotting it into his belt reluctantly. The groans lightened after a moment, but the noise was still thunderous.

All of a sudden, everything went silent. It was the pressing, harsh kind of silent that hurt your ears and made your head ring. The birds which had been warbling mournfully a moment ago suddenly hushed, grouping together apprehensively. The trees froze, roots slowly retreating, their groans ceasing. There was no footfall, but suddenly everybody knew that something was approaching. Something old, powerful, and undeniably magical. Amy licked her lips nervously. She had absolutely no weapon, and there was really nothing she could do except throw mud and hope it would blind whatever beast was coming closer. Sam unsheathed her dirk, eyes glittering angrily, her brown hair loose around her face and giving her the look of a half-wild animal.

"The White Wizard approaches," Legolas whispered, his voice hushed in the silence of the forest. Aragorn laid a finger against his lips, asking for absolute silence. His hands gripped his sword, unsheathing it was a metallic rasp. Legolas flighted an arrow against his cheek, drawing his bowstring back hard, back arching in effort as he waited. Gimli readied a throwing axe, his stocky body tense as he prepared to spring. Amy, woefully unequipped, began looking around for trees to climb. Deep in the heart of the trees, bedecked fabulously with ribbons of lichen, stood a dim figure, hooded and cloaked; a staff was clenched in his fist. At the same moment, all hell broke loose.

Legolas let fly with his arrow, Gimli threw his axe with deadly accuracy, and Aragorn sliced with his sword. There was a savage growl from Sam as she hurled herself towards the dim shape, dirk held aloft as she prepared to drive it home. The dim figure suddenly flared to life, pure white light shining like the light of a thousand suns, blinding them all and stunning them slightly. Legolas's arrow snapped in midair, Gimli's axe suddenly veered and buried to the hilt in a tree trunk, and Aragorn's sword hilt grew hot as a brand. He dropped it with a shout, swearing over his scorched palm. A voice, rich as chocolate and deep as a brass bell, suddenly rang out, sharp and accosting.

"You seek two Hobbits, do you not?" the voice demanded. Sam bared her teeth, scrubbing furiously at her eyes and looking around for anything dark to ease her burned retinas. A feral snarl built in her throat and she swiped at the hideous light, blade flashing in the extreme white brilliance.

"What did you do with them, you murderer?" Sam shrieked, still brandishing the knife. Amy whimpered and fumbled her way over to a tree, hiding behind it, blinking hard. Whatever was going to kill them, it was going to start with Sam. She couldn't bear to watch her own friend's death. But to her amazement, the voice that answered had lost some of it's crisp harshness, and a subtle note of amusement had slipped in.

"They met someone they did not expect to see," the voice answered. "Will that suffice?" The light began dimming slowly, and Amy peeked around the tree, multicolored images still dancing in her recently lost vision. A white figure with a gray cloak was standing before them. Underneath his outer cloak, a robe of shimmering white shone hard and clear, a smooth white staff gripped in his fist. A long white beard - pure white, without a streak of black down the middle - descended to his waist, along with his hair. It was the twinkling blue eyes which suddenly made Amy inhale sharply.

For, standing before them in flesh-and-blood, was Gandalf the Gray. But not as he once was. He looked stronger and healthier, more vibrant and wholesome. There was a lessening of the lines around his mouth and eyes, and a new joy was alit in his bright blue discs. Aragorn was staring at him, mouth agape, jaw slack. Legolas knelt reverently, bowing his golden head in awe as Gimli hastily copied. Amy was rooted to the spot, frozen with shock. Her friend; she had mourned his death. She had shed tears over his passing. And here he was, standing before her.

"You fell," Aragorn said hoarsely, and the sentence sounded ridiculous even to his own ears. "I saw you. You fell." He sounded warped and uncertain. Gandalf chuckled lightly.

"A wizard's task is never finished. 'Tis true that I fell, but I fought even as I descended. From the lowest dungeons to the highest tower, we dueled. Many wounds did he inflict, many horrors did I suffer, but at last I reigned victorious. I smote his ruin upon the mountainside, and passed into shadow. I do not know how long I lay there, dead in the snow, but my task was not complete. They sent me back." Gandalf sounded pleased with himself. Aragorn collapsed tremblingly onto one knee, a hand outstretched to his old friend.

"Gandalf..." he whispered. For a split second, Gandalf looked puzzled. A dim light flowed over him, as though remembered a long forgotten memory. A new twinkle emerged in his eyes as he helped Aragorn to his feet.

"Yes. That was what they used to call me. Gandalf the Gray." He sounded ponderous, as if this was an absurd name. At last, he smiled. "I am called Gandalf the White."

Amy felt her legs unfreeze, and before she knew what was happening she had thrown herself at Gandalf and hugged him tightly around the middle. She heard his surprised laugh, felt his hand patting her back, but she didn't care. Tears welled in her eyes. He was back, really and truly! She could feel him, touch him, smell his peculiar scent of earth and tobacco. Her friend, Gandalf, was back! She almost cried, but caught herself. If Gandalf was back, there was no need to cry. She felt safe now. Gandalf would keep off even the most vicious attacker. The horrible Balrog had been unable to keep him down.

As Amy pulled herself away, she felt as though they might have a chance after all.

09

Lizzie stood in the room, fingertips stroking the simple satin dress which Saruman had provided for her. To speak truly, not many females had passed through his gates, and had been hard pressed to find anything suitable for the girl to wear. But with a little magic, anything was possible. Lizzie liked the way it slipped over her skin, like dry liquid, cupping her plentiful curves. The neckline plunged and dripped from the shoulder, exposing most of her back and collarbones with sleeves that twisted sinuously down her arms to end in sweeping, tattered cuffs. Her hair had been scrubbed of all filth, and it was rippling down her shoulder, a stark contrast to the beautiful dark gown which she was wearing. She passed her fingers through her golden waves and waited for Saruman to arrive.

He did so promptly, disguising his appreciation for the slender, beautiful girl in front of him. He glowered at her, dark brows drawing together. "Well?" he barked, glaring at her harshly. She seemed supremely undeterred, serene, confident. She sidled up to him, perfecting her catwalk strut, rolling her hips suggestively. Her lashes fluttered, lowering slightly, making her crystal blue eyes smolder.

"I can tell you things you would _love_ to know," she said, rolling each word around in her mouth before pronouncing it. "Things like exactly _how_ you're going to lose the war."

Saruman snorted. "Lies, contemptible lies! With Sauron's might and my power, nothing can stop us!" he boomed impressively. Lizzie checked her nails, buffing them on the scrap of material that was called a dress. She looked at him with a 'oh, really' look, raising one eyebrow.

"Yes, yes, I know," she sighed. "But here's the thing, sweetie; I'm not from Middle Earth. I'm from a different world. Where I come from, your whole plan is a book. Yep, a book. Anybody can read it. Everybody read it and cheered when you _died_."

"I shall not die!" Saruman thundered. "I am immortal! I shall never die!"

"Very nice," Lizzie said, bored. "But the fact remains you're going to _lose_. Unless you listen to me." Saruman looked at her appraisingly.

"You shall speak to Sauron," he retorted. "And see if he believes this wild tale of yours." He gestured towards the palantir which was lying innocently on the stone pedestal. "Merely touch the palantir and you shall see him," he said snidely. Obviously, judging by the smirk on his face, he was going to enjoy this.

Lizzie gripped the palantir hard in both hard, allowing the world to dissolve around her. Colors blended together, fading down the walls and erecting new, harsher, blacker colors. A bleak landscape stretched for miles around her, neutral gray colors washing together and fading out. A mountain with thousands of carved stairs was beneath her feet, and she realized she was at the pinnacle of a tower. There was no sun above her, nothing but a blackened sky shot with red, like an infected wound.

_Speak, human_.

"I'm Lizzie," she began. Now was not the time to be frightened. Now was the time to act. "And I have information for you. I come from a different world, a different time, a different dimension. In this alternate reality, this whole world is a book. A story. Everything in it is fictional. I know how the story ends; therefore, I know how you fail. I can keep that from happening." She paused for a lengthy moment. "For a price."

_Why should I believe a cringing worm like yourself?_

"Because I'm telling the truth, that's why!" Lizzie snapped, beginning to get frustrated. "I know that the guys from Rohan go to Helm's Deep. I know that you send a bunch of troops there. And I know that you _lose_. Gandalf shows up with a ton of guys and you get creamed. I know that Isenguard crumbles. I know everything, okay? I know that Frodo destroys the One Ring of Power. I know that you die, Sauron. And I can stop it."

There was a long, pregnant silence. Then -

_Name your price._

Lizzie felt a triumphant smirk slide across her lips. "I want to rule the world," she crowed. Here, with the wind whipping her hair and an ethereal voice in her head, it did not sound impossible. It sounded like a tantalizing apple within her reach. All she had to do was reach out and grasp it. "I want to rule the world, and I want the One Ring."

_You shall have it_.

It never occurred to the mistress of double-crossing that she was being double-crossed.


	5. Sam Sees Gods, Lizzie Sees Grima

**A/N: Okay, you find out what the stag is...sort of. Okay, you kind of do. But you also kind of don't. Oh, and remember the 'T' rating...some rather odd descriptions in Lizzie's bit. Enjoy, and don't forget to REVIEW! I am on the author alert list of 37 people, so there should be at least 30 new reviews...right? **

It didn't take them long to tear their way back through Fangorn Forest. They followed the same rough path that Sam had torn through the old forest, which was fairly straightforward and generally clear of any debris. Despite Aragorn clearing even more undergrowth away from the tiny footpath, Amy still managed to stumble twice before they emerged out of the treeline. The last fall had brought her smack dab into a mud puddle, too. After picking herself up disgustedly, she tripped after them, mentally cursing her clumsy feet. Legolas watched her with amusement, his sensitive ears catching her mumbled oaths and hissed curses as she wiped mud from her hands. There was another side to Amy that he wanted to see; the same side that she had displayed when she rescued Sam from the Watcher. There was fire in her, he had no doubts. She just needed to breathe on the embers to fan the flames. He threaded his way through the thinning trees lightly, taking risky glances behind him so he could keep an eye on Amy. He knew that if Aragorn caught him watching Amy, he would never hear the end of it. Legolas had never been truly interested in any of the ellith at home, which was a source of constant ridicule from his friends. And if they knew he was watching an _edan_, no less...Legolas didn't want to think about it. Instead, he adjusted his quiver to hide the little smile that quirked the corners of his mouth.

The horses were right where they had left them, their bridles hanging limply in the crisp morning air. Arod, a dappled gray, looked at them idly while chewing the only tuft of wiry grass that wasn't stained with Uruk blood. Amy straightened her tunic and sighed. She wasn't going to risk riding with Legolas again; being that close to him had been sending little sparks down her nerve endings and she didn't want to fall off the horse or do something dumb. She would take her chances and ride with Sam. But this posed a problem, seeing as there were only three horses and six of them. She supposed Gandalf would ride with Gimli, but that meant Legolas would have to ride with Aragorn. They were both solid, well-built men, and she couldn't imagine poor Arod taking the strain. She was still pondering various seating arrangements (how very like a woman) when she heard a low, ringing whistle. Glancing up, she saw Gandalf looking towards the horizon and whistling a peculiar whistle. It reminded her of a small bird, mixed with the ringing of a bell. Unconsciously, her finger darted to the shell necklace around her throat. Often she had wondered what noise it would make when she blew it, but she had never been in extreme enough danger to test it. Then again, she really didn't want to be in danger at all. All thoughts were driven from her mind when she saw a white horse come thundering up the hill.

He was large, with thick haunches and a broad chest, coarse white mane and tail, and long, slender legs. Dark eyes regarded them coolly as he trotted up to Gandalf, bucking his long, noble nose and snuffling the old wizard's hand. He seemed cold, imperious, disdainful, but commanded a strong presence that even Amy felt. She was still admiring his beautiful snowy white coat when she heard Sam gasp loudly and dramatically. Turning, she saw her brunette friend go white as a sheet and point towards the horizon, in the same spot the horse had been standing. Sam gripped Amy's arm hard. "Look! It's him again!" she said, voice hardly above a whisper. "The stag!"

Amy tried, she really did. But no matter how hard she squinted and peered, she couldn't see anything but a grassy hill with a patch of buttercups on it. She had seriously considered Sam was delusional, but Sam was never one to joke around. Gandalf looked curiously at Sam while still stroking the nose of his horse. "Lady Samantha? Is something the matter?"

"Shut up, you'll scare him off!" Sam hissed. "Can't you see him? Look!" She pointed, taking a few hesitant steps towards the buck. The liquid black eyes regarded her fearlessly, the dignity apparent in its very stance and gaze. Sam took another faltering step. She wanted so badly to touch it, feel the sinewy muscles beneath her fingertips, prove that she wasn't crazy. But she was afraid to. What if she reached out to touch him and he merely disappeared? Was she really going crazy?

For some reason, the stag didn't seem very interested in her. He stalked proudly away from her, passing within a hands breadth from where she was standing, and went up to the snowy white horse. The stag was so large and broad that it could look the beautiful horse in the eyes, their noses making circles near each other. Their breath plumed in identical white clouds, their animal eyes looking at each other with amusement. Sam had a lingering feeling that they were having a conversation only they could hear, and she would have given a great deal to know what they had said. Then the horse snorted loudly, front hooves rising for a split second. The stag shook his head almost imperceptibly, and then tilted its powerful neck back. The black eyes reflected the midmorning sun, dazzling in its brilliance as the orb jeweled every silver hair on the stag. And then it bounded off, exactly as a deer would do, white tail flicking a saucy good bye as it rapidly disappeared from sight. Sam let out her breath. "That's the fourth time," she muttered. "This is getting ridiculous."

"A stag, you say?" Gandalf said interestedly, stroking his beard. With one easy motion, he mounted his white horse, swinging himself bareback on the horse. Amy wished - not for the first time, nor the last - that she had taken riding lessons. Gandalf was looking at Sam with an odd mixture of apprehension and interest.

"I'm not crazy," Sam said staunchly. "I keep seeing him. I saw him once in Lothlorien, just before I met with Galadriel, and another time when we were leaving Lothlorien. Then again when Amy and I were running." She looked apologetically at Amy. "He, the stag, I mean, breathed on us or something. And we kept on running. I don't think we would have made it without him. And just now, he was sniffing your horse."

"His name is Shadowfax," Gandalf said automatically, but his blue eyes were sharp and distant. "My lady, it seems as though you have seen something very...curious." He glanced at Aragorn and Legolas, who were looking at Sam as though she had declared she was passionately in love with the Watcher and they were planning a June wedding. "T'would be best if we began moving," Gandalf said. "Lady Amy, would you ride with Legolas? I wish to speak with Lady Samantha for a moment."

He did not catch Amy's almost inaudible groan. Why was luck so against her? Was everybody determined to put Amy and Legolas together? Legolas got off his horse courteously, holding the horse's bridle with one fist as Amy scrambled gracelessly atop the horse. Swinging a leg into the saddle, Legolas dug his heels into the horse's flanks and they took off after Aragorn, Gimli, Sam, and Gandalf. When they had caught up, Amy was able to pick up Gandalf's words.

" - A messenger, most likely," he had been saying softly. "The Valar do not often come to Middle Earth. They prefer to stay away, to let us handle our own affairs."

"So you're saying I saw the messenger of the whatevers? The Valar?" Sam said, her brow crinkling. "That doesn't seem right. Why would they send a stag? I mean, why not a lion, or a dragon, or something cool?" Gandalf stroked his beard.

"It would depend on which Valar wishes to contact you," Gandalf said slowly. "Irmo was the lord of desires and also of dreams, and it is possible that he would send a stag. Stags are the epitome of health and virility, so it might as well have been Manwe, the Lord of the Valar. Or it could have been -" He broke off abruptly, a frown cutting across his beard.

"What?" Sam asked irritably. "I mean, don't stop now that you're listing off a bunch of gods I don't even know. Besides, who says it's a god, or a Valar, or whatever? Couldn't it be just a friendly buck who has, I don't know, a genetic color mutation?"

"Orome," Gandalf said, as if Sam had not spoken. "Lord of the Hunt. He was one of the lingering Valar in Middle Earth, and he came here often to hunt and take his leisure. Yes, it is possible that he would send a stag."

"Um, if he's a hunter, why would he send something he hunts? Doesn't that seem a little like a crunchy-granola person to you?" Sam said. Most of this flew over their heads, but Legolas spoke up.

"If you mean it seems overly merciful, you are mistaken," Legolas said shortly, his tones clipped and frosty. "All great hunters have great respect for what they hunt. It is what makes the game challenging and fruitful. Hunters do not hunt for sport; they hunt for food, and to pit their endurance against the basic, raw emotions of a wild beast. But Mithrandir, a Valar? Do you not think it a bit extreme? The Valar did not interfere in the last War of the Ring; why should they help now?"

Gandalf looked towards the horizon worriedly, clicking his tongue and urging Shadowfax to a greater speed. It was obvious from his silence that he didn't know.

Sam groaned. Everything was just peachy. First, she got thrown into a different world. Then, she got caught up in a do-or-die, life-and-death, save-the-world mission that would be impossible for Tom Cruise. And now she was seeing gods? Was that anything like seeing ghosts? Because if it was, she was going to freak out very soon and very fast. She wasn't about to have any ghost occupying her body, pretty silver stag or no.

09

Lizzie sprawled over the table, pale fingers tracing lines on the yellowed maps. Complete satisfaction was thrumming through her system, and her blue eyes were narrowed with pleasure as she sketched plans with a charcoal stick. Her dress was just as revealing, with frilly purple lace trimming her bosom and highlighting her womanly hips, the sleeves draping from her shoulders. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head, and she had carefully rimmed her eyes with charcoal this morning. She was careful not to touch her eyes too much, because it smeared very easily, but it gave her exactly the look she wanted. Beautiful, elegant, lethal, sinister. If she was going to be queen of the world, she might as well look the part. She lowered her lashes, examining the map idly. It was a beautiful map, with scrawling black lines marking the boundaries of territories, smudged gray triangles indicating mountains, blue circles revealing pools and streams. She noticed, with some apprehension, that there was a dam not too far away from Isenguard. That would have to be remedied. She needed to speak with Saruman about that.

They say that when you speak the devil's name, he is sure to appear. Saruman had this uncanny - and unpleasant - ability to appear with the slightest thought. He stalked into the room, the heels of his boots clicking on the polished floors. His stick clacked on the table as he glowered at Lizzie, ignoring her full breasts which were very prettily on display. "What?" he growled. "Speak quickly!"

"You have a problem, Saruman," Lizzie drawled, tapping the dam with her charcoal pen. "See this dam? This is going to burst. These walking trees do it, or something. Anyway, you need to station a couple of guards there so the trees don't get to the dam."

Saruman did not like being ordered about by a young woman. Actually, the idea of being ordered about by anyone would chafe him to no end. And to be bossed around by a _girl_ was driving him bonkers. "The ents have not been awake in centuries," he snapped irritably. "There is no reason for them to awaken now."

"Listen, mister, you better do what I say," Lizzie began, actually poking him in the chest with a finger. She got no further when the doors opened, creaking slightly. Both of them turned, and Lizzie gasped.

A small pale man was standing in the doorway. He had oily, greasy black hair hanging in damp curtains around his sallow face and hollow cheeks. Dark circles decked his red-rimmed eyes, and his stature was in a state of perpetual half-bow. Watery blue eyes peered at Lizzie with an expression of mingled hunger and delight. There was something undeniably wolfish about the way he drank in Lizzie's generous curves so nicely on display. Blondes. He had always had a thing for blondes. "My lord?" he hissed softly. "I wished to inform you that I shall be departing for Rohan very shortly." He stopped deliberately and approached Lizzie. "And who is this...lovely, beautiful maiden who stands in our presence?"

He had a soft, purring, silky way of talking that was bewitching. He grasped her pale hand and pressed it to his thin lips. She was not who he wanted, not the strong Rohirric shield maiden who had ensnared him, but she would do wonderfully. Oh, yes, she would be a beautiful distraction. Saruman watched this with enormous enjoyment. "This is Lady Elizabeth. She is a witch from the future; she knows of our situation and wishes to help us." This was the easiest tale to tell his servant. To explain fully would take a good many hours.

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, my Lady," he purred, finally releasing her hand. Lizzie backed away from him, recoiling unconsciously. She looked at him, disgusted, but the sound of his voice was doing something funny to her head. It was clouding her senses, making everything seem... what was the word? Hunky-dory.

"Yeah, I think," Lizzie breathed, backing up until she hit a wall. The small man kept advancing until he was uncomfortably close. Lizzie didn't miss the fact that he was the exact same height as her breasts, and he was giving them his undivided attention.

"You may call me Grima Wormtongue," he said softly. "And I'm afraid I must make a hasty leave of your intoxicating presence, Lady Elizabeth. My king awaits."


	6. A Funeral And A Runaway?

**A/N: I usually don't like to take quotes directly from the movie, but the exchange between Gandalf and Grima is just SO EPIC. I changed it a bit, but it's essentially the same. Ooh, look, I spot a cliff hanger! Yippee!**

* * *

><p>A crow cawed harshly once, the guttural rasp echoing around the silent city. It flapped its wings, shuffling slightly to the side as it stretched its feathered body. Amy eyed it fearfully. The whole city was eerily quiet; men and women looked at them from behind windows and doors, others stopping in the street to stare point-blank at the four horses which walked slowly up the cobbled streets. Black banners hung around the walls of several houses, and Amy wondered if there was an illness passing through Edoras. A gaunt woman was holding a thin child very close to her, and they both stared widely at Amy, not looking away. Their eyes were huge and dark, and Amy felt ashamed for something she couldn't quite name. She also felt very self-conscious; she must have looked disgusting, what with her sweaty, dirty clothes and rumpled hair. Not to mention that she was riding with a very handsome elf that didn't have a hair out of place. She averted her eyes, instead focusing on the horse's arched neck. The horse's hooves clipped the streets sharply, mingling with the raucous squawks of the crow to form a hateful harmony.<p>

They approached the gates of the Keep. A small wall, made out of thick logs driven into the ground, had been formed around it. Rough stones had been shaped together to form thick, solid walls, and black banners hung limply in the towers. By craning her neck she could see glimpses of stained glass windows and of sweeping stone staircases. Legolas dismounted and helped Amy get off the horse, his hands spanning her waist for an electric moment. Amy felt a hot blush sweep her cheeks and she moved on determinedly, trying to move the thick block in her throat. Sam looked very pale and her brown eyes were dull. Apparently the strain of the past few days were catching up to her, and Amy noticed she was limping. Automatically, the two girls locked arms and leaned on each other, supporting themselves as they tried to ease their aching feet. Aragorn noted this with mild amusement. The girls had been through absolute hell trying to complete this quest; they had no ties to Middle Earth (although Aragorn was suspecting Amy had a serious tie to Legolas) and he wasn't quite sure why they continued following them. He had been completely confused by Lady Galadriel's insistence to bring the three girls along, and he still did not see their worth.

A guard, his beard dark and serious, stopped them at the yawning black doorway that stared ominously at them. "You are not allowed to visit our beloved Theoden-King so armed, by order of Grima Wormtongue, Advisor to the King." He looked at them all seriously, and they all waited a beat. Then Gandalf tipped his head, and they began dismantling themselves. Amy, who was thoroughly weaponless, was amazed at all the weapons Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn had concealed among themselves. First, Aragorn had his amazing sword and scabbard, which he handed over with a muttered word of warning. Then came two boot-knives, a dirk hidden in his sleeve, and a meat-knife strapped to his thigh. Legolas had his bow, a quiver full of arrows, his two White Knives, and a dagger fastened to his hip. Gimli had seven throwing axes - he had lost one in Moria - two quarter axes, and a double-bladed axe for everyday use, along with a short sword tied to his belt. Sam reluctantly handed over her dirk and her leather sheath.

"That was a gift from a friend," she warned the guard. "Lose it and I'll mess you up. Got it?" The threat rang hollow because of her pale cheeks and weak, raspy voice, but there was a fierce glitter in her brown eyes that the guard did not want to tempt. She reminded him of a tethered cougar - hungry, merciless, and absolutely crazy. The guard raised his eyebrows at Amy, who shook her head.

"I don't carry any weapons," she said. "I'm a pacifist." This was the blackest lie she had ever told in her life - she had never been combat-friendly, but she supposed that some wars were very necessary. Sam, on the other hand, thought that wars were very underrated and that there should be a lot more of them. The guard extended his hand, palm up, to Gandalf.

"Your staff." He ordered. Gandalf leaned on the intricately carved wooden staff, the lines suddenly deepening around his mouth and eyes. His merry twinkle was dimmed for a split second, and Amy thought he looked very old and worn out.

"Oh, but you would not deny an old man his much-needed walking stick, would you?" he asked, the twinkle emerging despite his best efforts. The guard looked him over, and then grunted in his throat. Reluctantly, the guard led them into the great hall of Theoden-King, who had been recently stricken with an unseen illness.

All of the thick wooden shutters had been bolted, despite the weak sunlight filtering through the scudding gray clouds. A fire crackled lowly in a bronze brazier, flames leaping up to taste the air with fiery tongues. Massive oaken pillars stood sentry at regular intervals, supporting the heavy ceiling. Guards stood between every one of the pillars, and Sam suspected several more were hidden in shadow. The flagstones were rough, and they feet made soft scraping sounds on the unpolished floors. Ahead of them, a simple throne of ancient mahogany stood majestically, the arms worn from constant usage. But sitting on the throne was the most decrepit man any of them had ever seen. His hair had been coming out in clumps, but what remained was wiry bristles which were shockingly white. His blue eyes were filmed over and glassy, sightlessly staring at the group of newcomers. A ribbon of drool hung from his thick, purplish lip, and Amy thought she detected a snore. A crown had been perched lopsidedly on his head, but this somehow made him see more pathetic. They could see traces of the strong, virile man he once had been, but now the muscle and sinew lay wasted beneath moldy furs and rotting flesh.

"My Lord, Gandalf the Gray approaches," the guard announced. The King did not stir, but there was a gentle movement behind the shadows, as if some rat was sniffing the air suspiciously. Then, a snakelike voice hissed lightly into the air.

"He is a herald of woe, my liege..."

Gandalf cleared his throat, still leaning on his staff. "The temper of your halls have been somewhat lessened as of late, Theoden-King. There were days where I would be welcomed in to a warm fire and a tasty beer."

Skulking around the simplistic throne was a small man, his black hair hanging in greasy curtains around his sallow face. He had black circles underneath his eyes, as if he had not slept for many days, and his eyes were watery and sharp as flints. A thin white hand moved to stroke the arm of the throne absently as he peered at them, lip curling disdainfully. "He is not welcome," Grima hissed silkily into Theoden's ear.

"Why...should I welcome...you...Gandalf...Stormcrow?" the king panted, words tumbling from him with an effort. Then he turned his sightless eyes to Grima as if for approval. The short man rewarded his puppet with a mirthless smile.

"A just question, my lord," Grima purred, stealing down the hall towards the little knot of people. "This conjuror has arrived decidedly...late, to this gathering. Lathspell I name him, for ill news is an ill guest."

Gandalf lost his temper. "Be silent! I did not pass through fire and death to exchange words with a forked-tongue worm!" He growled. Grima backed up hastily, scuffing at his thin mouth with his black sleeve.

"His staff, you fools! I instructed you to take the wizard's staff!" Grima snarled. Instantly, the guards moved forward. Amy drew closer to Legolas and Sam with a little mewl of distress. She realized that she was being a bit of a baby, but the idea of tackling big hulking guards was not appealing to her.

It was proved right away that Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were more than competent without their weapons. And what Sam lacked in size, she made up for tenfold in ferocity. Sam wasted no time in kneeing one guard, jabbing another in the solar plexus, elbowing another in the throat, and stamping down hard on the toes of another. The aura of the room shifted as Gandalf threw back his robes, the blinding white glare startling everybody. He seemed to be engaged in a battle of wills with Theoden, who was grinning barbarically. Amy found herself suddenly distant from everybody, and a rough hand clamped down on her arm.

_I am so sick of being grabbed by people_, Amy thought bitterly to herself. _I just wish everyone would go away and leave me alone_. This was a big breakthrough for little Amy. Normally, when she was in trouble - like now - she wished herself away. Now she was wishing someone else would leave. So, when the guard pinned her against a hard wooden pillar, instead of crying, she brought her small foot down hard on his booted toes. He slackened his grip just enough for Amy to turn around.

Sam and Legolas actually paused in their fight to see Amy tackle one of the guards in a football style fumble, ramming to the floor with a sudden turn in speed. The guard, winded but still annoyed, was not about to compromise his honor and hit a woman. His honor was severely tested when Amy began punching his cheeks with tiny fists, hammering on his chest with her arms. While undoubtedly impressive, she was doing more damage to herself than the guard, because hammering a metal breastplate was not the smartest move. However, she had blacked the guard's eye and ribbed him hard in the waist before he got up. The guard looked at her bewilderedly, and then waited until Amy stopped pounding on his chest. She blew inconvenient loose strands of hair out of her face, a stripe of red hair cutting across her freckled jaw, and glared at the guard. "DON'T EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. It was surprisingly loud in the large room, and for a split second Amy wondered what banshee had just shrieked to the heavens. _Oh, yeah, duh, that was me._

She missed Legolas's lightning grin which skimmed across his mouth. He decided he had just found another facet of her personality.

They fight slowed to a stop, and Gimli tackled Grima with a flying leap. He shook a fist in the sallow-skinned man's face. "I'd stay still, iffin I was you," Gimli warned. Apparently he didn't need his massive battleaxe to look menacing. Not to mention he was just about Grima's size, and undoubtedly more buff.

The king was changing. His white hair and beard were growing out, replaced by thick golden waves. The lines melted on his face, taking away ten, twenty, thirty years. His blue eyes became shockingly sharp and they blinked dazedly, looking around as though just woken from a long sleep. A young girl who had somehow become entangled in Aragorn's strong grip tore herself free and threw herself at the king. He took her face in his hands, brushing her tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, looking at her with confusion and dim realization. "Eowyn...Eowyn, I know your face..."

"Oh, Father," the blonde woman sobbed into his chest, calling him the title which she had bestowed upon him at a very young age. Amy noticed Aragorn looking at the blonde woman with subtle interest, and a little emotion pricked at her. The blonde woman - Eowyn, or whatever her name was - would suit Aragorn very well, she thought. And then, Theoden looked up, confused.

"Where is my son?"

* * *

><p>The funeral was beautiful, Amy thought. Sparse and quiet, with Theoden looking at his son's grave for a long time. Starry white flowers, their white petals pouting under the overcast sky, trimmed his grave. The weather had darkened appropriately for this grief-stricken time, for the father who had missed the last hours of his son's life. Amy sniffled, swiping at her nose, fighting the urge to cry even thought she had never met Theodred. Aragorn and Gandalf were speaking to Theoden for a long moment, their voices muted under the oppressively dark sky. Amy scuffed at her eyes, deciding once and for all that she was a total mush. She had no idea, but everything was so damned <em>sad<em> in this world. Why did everyone have to die? Why did good times have to end? Why were people torn from their loved one's arms long before their time? It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair. Amy hated Fate, and Life, and Time, and any other thing that might have broken this already shattered family even further. She bowed her head and recited a few Hail Mary's for the bereaved father and his departed son.

Sam hadn't cried since she was seven years old, and she wasn't about to start now. Sure, she felt bad, but she had never met the guy who died, and therefore, she didn't feel much remorse over the fact. She was far too interested in the chill which was skating across her arms, pebbling the skin and making her shiver. She kept her teeth from chattering by clamping her jaws together, and she rubbed her forearms briskly, igniting a bit of warmth in them. And then she felt it. The unmistakable prickle that swam down her back whenever that damned stag was near her. She whirled around, eyes narrowed, looking for the majestic silver stag which would stand out in the scenery like roses in a snowbank. She caught sight of him by the grave, pretty white flowers pooling at his slender legs, his dark eyes saddened when he looked at the sobbing Theoden. He dipped his long, powerful neck and nuzzled the back of Theoden's cape, breath huffing over his skin. And then the stag looked up, straight at Sam.

_My Master has a message_.

Oh, no way in _hell_ was she hearing voices.

_He bids you come_.

If you heard voices from only one animal, did it still mean you were crazy?

_Come_.

If that stag thought she was going to follow him, he was crazier than she was.

But he trotted off, once more delicately leaping from tuft to tuft, hooves skirting the mud daintily. Sam looked at her weary friends. It would take her two seconds, and then she would find out once and for all if she was nuts or not.

Silently, she took off after the stag.


	7. Numb Shock

**A/N: I edited this one. I realized I didn't want more OC's. This chapter has a new ending. **

Sam had only been gone for a second. Amy knew it. So why was she panicking? Amy had pushed herself away from the comforting arms of Aragorn - the ranger wasn't quite sure why she had been crying - and peered off into the distance, searching for Sam's familiar form. Sure enough, she saw Sam's willowy, tall figure striding resolutely towards the horizon, her stride never wavering as she trudged through small rivers and over little hillocks. She wasn't running, and Amy knew she wasn't crying. Sam never cried. Amy had only seen her cry once - but that was a long story. So why was she leaving the tiny knot of grievers still crowded around Theodred's flower-bedecked grave? Squinting hard, Amy focused on the distant horizon, dark green eyes narrowing as she strained to see better. And then, she saw it. Her breath stopped completely, heart hitching in her chest.

For against the backdrop of inky gray, a graceful silver stag pranced impatiently, Sam walking quickly behind it.

Amy wasted no time. She took off after them, ignoring the protesting shouts of Aragorn and Legolas. The ground was soft and slippery under her feet, slipping and sliding over damp tussocks of grass and scrambling up dunes. She needed to reach Sam. Guilt for doubting her friend surged up, but she batted it away quickly. There was no time to be guilty - Sam could be walking to her doom. All of the stories about misleading animals welled up in her chest, forming a tight knot that couldn't be shifted aside. Picking up her pace, she began running after her, shouting Sam's name. She couldn't afford to lose another friend. Lizzie was captive in Isenguard, and Amy knew in her heart that she wouldn't be coming back. Tears blurred her vision. She couldn't fight the war of Middle Earth alone.

09

Sam felt as though she were swimming underwater through a dream. Everything seemed distant and surreal, bland and tasteless while the buck in front of her was majestic and real. She kept reaching out to touch it, and her fingertips would barely skim it's flanks before he quivered and took off again, always staying within reach, just enough to keep her tantalizingly close. He was much larger up close - the size of a horse, but much more beautiful and graceful, with slender legs that danced as he moved, gleaming fur that was unmatched by the moon and stars themselves. Strangely enough, Sam thought she heard someone calling her name, but she ignored it. The stag needed her to come. So she would. Finally, the stag stopped dead still, large nostrils flaring as it tilted its horned, curved head backwards, sniffing the air suspiciously. A tiny rivulet of water was flowing at its dark hooves, the sandy bottom mere inches away from the surface of the water. Elegantly, the stag dipped its handsome head and drank regally, water flecking the minute hairs around its velvet muzzle. Tentatively, Sam reached out to touch the silky flank.

"I wouldn't do that, maiden."

Deep, immeasurably rich, chocolate silk wound around pure white velvet; thrumming with power untold and wise beyond eons of years. The voice was haunting, beautiful, and unreal. Sam pivoted slowly, hackles raising as she searched for the owner of the flawless voice. When she saw him, she stopped breathing entirely. For there, standing before her, was the most handsome, beautiful man she had ever seen. He was tall, impossibly tall, perhaps six and a half feet tall, and broad chested. A striking, regal profile ran between deep-set, unfathomable eyes that were the precise shade of the sky at high noon. Sharp features, ageless and beautiful, complimented his sinewy, lithe form. Dark hair was braided at the temples, pulled back to reveal slanted ears and a sculpted jaw line. Thick metal armor, polished to a high gleam, rippled over his muscles. A honey-colored bow was in his hands, a quiver of arrows strung over his back. The arrows were perfection, flighted with silver feathers that shone like stars. He had a glow, dazzling and brilliant, that surrounded him like a visible aura. Sam felt her heart feebly come back to life. Slowly, in a gesture she wouldn't have done for any living thing, she sank to one knee. A spark - more an ember - of humor flickered his eyes, and his mouth twitched slightly in the form of a smile. "A well-meant gesture, maiden, yet it comes decidedly late."

Sam couldn't speak. She felt suddenly horribly inadequate - her clothes were stained and muddied, brown hair dull and tousled, cheeks reddened, figure thin and wasted away compared to his vibrant life and commanding stature. Her eyes dropped to the ground. She felt a single finger tilt her chin backwards, sending a sheaf of brown-black hair shifting over her ears, and their eyes met. Shivers of power rambled up her spine, terrifying and alluring. She wanted nothing more than to run away - but her mind wouldn't let her. She was bewitched by those crystalline cerulean eyes, knowing and wise, threaded with a ghostly skimming of gray. Slowly, she stood, and she saw her tall figure was dwarfed by his mere shadow. Even his _shadow_ glowed. She didn't know what to say; her mouth was dry as sand, tongue thick and unmoving. The man - or god, or whatever - shifted his gaze from her gold-flecked brown eyes and clicked his fingers. The stag stepped lightly over to him, and allowed the man to rest his hand on his head. "This is Amanfara, my servant. I hunted him for nigh on three nights before I captured him. He is a beast beyond compare." He inclined his head. "I sent him to watch over you, maiden."

"He's beautiful," Sam managed to whisper. "I've seen him a couple of times. Beautiful animal." She couldn't think of what else to say. He inclined his head once more, as if her answer had pleased him.

"I am Orome, Lord of the Hunt. And you, maiden, are Samantha Browning, visitor from America." he said. She must have looked surprised, for he arched a single eyebrow. "I know of you, maiden. The Valar watches over the race of Men, and we have done so since Time began." He patted the stag's head lightly. "And I wish to inform you I find you..." he searched for a proper word, "...interesting."

"Why?" _Stupid girl, don't question him! He'll blow you to smithereens!_

"Because women do not traditionally fight," Orome said frostily. "And yet I see a warrior within you. You need care and training to help bring it out, but you carry yourself with nobility and dignity." He lowered his eyes. "You must tread carefully, maiden. These are dangerous times. You shall need every ally you have to survive the bloody battles." He clicked his fingers again. "But hist! a lady approaches."

09

Amy couldn't believe what she was seeing. She didn't even know what she was doing. But Sam was talking in low murmurs to the most amazing looking man she had ever seen. Suddenly her vocabulary dried up when she tried to describe him mentally. All she could think was _My God, he's handsome. And tall._ And then, oh-so-surely, he flicked his crystal eyes to her. "Lady Amy. Blessed is our meeting. It is good to meet you in person."

Stumblingly, Amy curtsied helplessly, completely unsure as what to do. "Uh, Sam?" she croaked. "What - I mean - wait - huh? - who?" He didn't seemed chafed by her lack of words; instead, a tiny smile quirked the side of his mouth.

"You have a possession of mine, maiden," he said, arching one eyebrow. Amy's small hands immediately went to the seashell necklace strung around her throat. "Yes. The whistle was carved by me and passed down through my servants. Do not use it lightly, maiden - it carries more power than you can imagine."

Orome bowed low. "And now, maidens, a friend of yours approaches. It would be in my best interests to leave you now, with my blessing. Samantha - " he paused, and looked directly at her, searing crystal eyes into her very soul - "Call out my name, and I shall come."

Amy and Sam both blinked blearily. There was no sign of Orome or the stag - nothing but bland gray landscape and bleak gray skies. The two of them looked at each other. "Did that just happen?" Sam asked hoarsely.

"I think so," Amy said, gripping her seashell necklace. "We should get back to the others. I _really_ don't like this. C'mon."

"What did he mean by 'a friend approaches'?" Sam wondered aloud. Amy perked up visibly next to her.

"Maybe it's Lizzie! Maybe she escaped from Isenguard!" Amy said, hope flooding her chest. Sam stopped dead in her tracks, and Amy half-turned to look at her. "What?"

"Amy..." Sam began falteringly. "I've been meaning to tell you..." she shifted her weight uncomfortably. "Lizzie...isn't going to come back."

Numb, fuzzy, shock. Incomprehension.

"I looked in Galadriel's mirror...Lizzie's going to betray us." Sam focused on the ground, throat blocked. "And I'm going to have to fight her." she looked up. "Amy, I think I'm going to kill her."

No. Impossible.

"No..." Amy said, shaking her head. "No, that's stupid. Lizzie wouldn't...wouldn't... No, Lizzie's an idiot, but, I mean, she's not a..." Couldn't say it, couldn't wrap her head around the words. Traitor. Betrayer. Judas Iscariot. Benedict Arnold. "She wouldn't."

"She will."

"No. You're making it up." Amy was falling back to her knee-jerk response - crying.

"I saw it, damn it!" Sam shouted. "Do you think I like the idea? Do you? Do you think I'm going to _enjoy_ killing our best friend? No! But she will, and she's probably doing it right now. Don't you get it, Amy? Middle Earth twists everybody's thinking. She's not herself. Lizzie isn't Lizzie."

"Don't be stupid." The words were hard to form, unshapeable clay lodged tight in her throat. "She wouldn't. Lizzie's always Lizzie. She's our friend." And somehow, saying the words made it seem easier to bear. Lizzie would never betray them. Not their stupid Lizzie. Not their fashionable Lizzie. Not their friend. It took a moment for Amy to realize Sam was crying, silently, tears gathering on her cheeks, staining the ruddy skin.

"She will, Amy," Sam said roughly, voice harsh and empty. "She will, and I'm going to have to end it." She mouthed the last words, almost to herself. A dry sob rattled her chest, and she battled her emotions. "Lizzie will, and don't trust her. Please."

"You're lying." Dead, cold, lifeless words - a corpse lying on frozen grounds. Amy felt an unmovable lump lock in her throat.

"What?" Sam was horrified. "I wouldn't lie to you, Amy! I - we're friends, best friends!"

"Lizzie's my friend too," Amy said fiercely, body shaking with sobs. "She's my friend, and you can't stand being friends with her! You always hated her!"

"Hated her?" Sam asked in disbelief. "Hated her? I mean, we fought, sure, but - Amy, you don't seriously believe -"

She did. Sam could see it in her eyes.

"Amy, I love her. I love you both. Look, this isn't easy for me either!" Sam shouted, throwing up her hands. "I wouldn't lie to you, never. I'd do anything - _anything_ - to help you. Please, you have to believe me. We can't trust her, Amy. We have to -"

"SHUT UP!" Amy was backing away, sobbing now, barely understandable. "Just shut up, Sam! She's our friend! Why can't you see that? She's our friend, and she's trapped somewhere, helpless - Maybe Galadriel was lying to you!"

"She wasn't Amy," Sam said numbly. "She wasn't. I saw it. We can't trust -"

"I can't trust _you_!" Amy shrieked. "I can't trust _anybody_!"

"Amy?"

It was Legolas. He had a hand on his knife and he was breathing hard, shallow breaths hissing between his teeth. His slender brows drew together as he looked at Amy. "What possessed you to run off like that, Amy?"

She was so frightened and angry that her name didn't register. She was so wrapped in her own emotions she didn't notice it was the first time he had used her name without 'Lady' in front of it. Instead, a sob coughed from her chest, and she clenched her arms to her sides. "Ask _Sam_!" she said. "She's - she's - telling m-me that L-Lizzie...L-Lizzie..." She couldn't get any farther. "She's l-lying!"

"I saw it, damn it!" Sam said, crying in earnest now, unable to make her see, make her realize. She felt the same way she felt whenever she looked at her mother drinking - completely helpless. Sam slammed her feet into the ground and began sobbing. Legolas was bewildered.

"Both of you, calm down," he began, but the two of them wheeled on him.

"STAY OUT OF THIS!"

"Go away!"

Legolas looked at the raw hurt in Amy's eyes, Sam's puffy cheeks, and backed off a step. "Amy," he whispered. "Amy, please." His voice was soothing, gentle, caressing her soul. She whimpered to herself, burying her face in her hands. Sam couldn't take anymore - she bolted towards Edoras, away from Amy, away from everything. Amy watched her go, still crying.

"She's never lied to me before," she hiccupped. "Never. She wouldn't...Lizzie wouldn't..." She was incoherent now, winding down from her brutal sobs, collapsing into a piddled mess. Legolas crouched before her, tucking stray curls behind her ears. She batted his hand away like a cat would a mouse, clamping her arms around her knees.

"What did Sam say?" Legolas asked, his voice still soft, soothing, like a zephyr of summer breeze across a plain of grass. "Amy, you can tell me."

"She said...she said...Lizzie would...betray us." Amy fought to control her words. "But she's lying, I know she is! We've been friends since we were little kids...We - we promised. We would always be friends."

"She saw it in the mirror, didn't she?" Legolas asked, more wondering aloud than stating a question. At Amy's nod, he sighed slightly, releasing his frustration into the stiff breeze. What could he say? There were no words to comfort her, nothing but empty words, cold and frail. So he let her stay here, comforting herself, trying to block out the painful memory of his own visit with Galadriel.

_"Legolas Thranduillion of Mirkwood...Why do you approach me so late?"_

_The white gown whispering over the small spikes of green grass. Her blonde curls tumbling over her shoulders, smoky cerulean eyes regarding him coolly. The feeling of his bow beneath his hand, the weight of his quiver on his back. Her mirror sparkled in the bright moonlight, the basin of water reflecting the full silver moon, a coin tossed carelessly on a backdrop of velvet sky._

_"I seek answers, my Lady."_

_"You shall find them."_

_Gripping the basin, worn stone under his fingers, light blue eyes sweeping the clear water, registering the images before him with difficulty..._

_(Amy, falling over a wall, pain written upon her face...)_

_(Aragorn, fastened to a Warg, flying into space, grabbing empty air as he fell...)_

_(Orcs, surrounding them, thousands upon thousands...)_

_(Samantha, straddling an Orc, knives in hands, slicing, hacking, stabbing, snarling...)_

_(Lizzie, perched atop a coal-black horse, long blonde hair plaited behind her, crimson cloak rippling in the wind...)_

_(Back to back with Gimli, their weapons glinting dully in red light...)_

_(The feel of blood on his hands...)_

_(Amy on the ground, life ebbing from her in slow waves...)_

He watched Amy now, watched her get up, normally lively green eyes dull and listless. She looked down at him mechanically. "I need a bath," she said in a small voice, completely devoid of emotion. "And I need to sleep. For a long time."

Slowly, he nodded. Images from Galadriel's mirror threatened to crowd to his mind, but he told himself to mind the moment, concentrate on the broken young girl in front of him. There was a world to save, and a girl to comfort. He struggled internally for a moment, and then followed her back up to Edoras. Aragorn would no doubt wonder why they were gone, but Legolas had no answers, either for Aragorn or himself.

Especially answers concerning Amy.


	8. Delicate Indeed

**A/N: I deleted the idea of having Anna coming into the story. I'm already doing a story with a lot of OC's, and it's really hard. So it's just going to stay Amy, Lizzie and Sam for now. :) Enjoy!**

She slid underneath the bubbles, holding her breath, hair pooling around her. The hot water was cooling rapidly, and she wanted to make the most of the heat. Layers of filth and blood skated off her, discoloring the water. The wooden tub was slick and smooth under her hands, and she brought her head up, a curtain of sodden red hair shielding her eyes. She groped blindly for the gritty dish of soap, rubbing the soft cream over her arms and legs, the sand peeling off the filth. She dunked again, hanging her dripping legs over the edge so she could wash her hair. She scrubbed harder and harder, but she couldn't get the guilt off. She felt guilty for even considering Lizzie would be a traitor - Lizzie was their friend. She broke the surface, wringing out her hair and wiping the water from her eyes. Shivering, she hugged herself and stared at the grayish bubbles which were no doubt highly toxic by now.

_Sticky lemonade glasses lined by the porch. The worn cedar beams damp from their wet swimsuits. Tangled hair - brown, blonde, red - all flopped messily in their eyes. Even at eight, Lizzie was the prettiest. Even at eight and a half, Sam was the toughest. Even at seven, Amy was the shortest. Three plastic rings, green, blue, red, perched on small fingers. The loud clink of the sticky glasses rapping together. _

_"We'll always be friends, right?" _

_A Cheshire-cat grin from Sam, a model's smile from Lizzie._

_"Right." _

She scraped a towel along her arms, reaching for the dress that had been laid out for her. It was pale green, with lace, and she didn't pay much attention to it as she hauled it over her head. It had a corset, which she didn't approve of, and pockets, which she did. Rows of gleaming pearl buttons - real buttons, not snap-ons - ran down the front of the corset and the back of the gown. She managed the button the front ones without too much trouble, but she couldn't reach the back ones. There was a perfectly timed rap at the door. "Lady?" called a voice through the wood. "Do you need help?"

"That would be nice," Amy said, annoyed and exasperated with the stupid buttons. A slender blonde woman with smiling blue eyes crossed the room and reached for her buttons.

"This dress becomes you very nicely, Lady Amy," the woman said. "Hold your breath." She tugged sharply on the ribbons of the corset, cutting off Amy's scathing reply. The woman smiled and reached for a brush. "Sit down, Lady Amy, so I may brush your hair." Amy allowed the wide-toothed wooden comb to run through her tangled, wet curls, starting at the bottom of her thick mane of red hair. "I am Eowyn," the blonde woman said. "I saw you arrive."

"Yeah," Amy said without enthusiasm. "That's great." Despite her emotions, she had a distinct feeling of being forced to hold up her end of the conversation. "How long have you lived in Rohan?" she asked at a weak stab at conversation. Eowyn took the baton and ran with it.

"All of my life. I am a Shieldmaiden of Rohan, and a lady of the court. Isn't it a glorious country?" Eowyn seemed to be expressively cheerful concerning her country, and Amy could get by with nods and murmurs of agreement. After a while, she felt Eowyn twisting her hair and pinning it in a knot at the base of her neck. "Do you wish to leave your hair down, or keep it up?" she asked. Amy felt the lump at her scalp and shook her head, enjoying the new feel.

"I'll keep it like this, thanks," she said. She stood up and followed Eowyn down the door, hearing Eowyn's silvery laugh bounce off the walls. Amy didn't want her to laugh. Things were collapsing down around her ears, and people shouldn't be laughing. Luckily, they reached the dining hall before she did something really rash, like clapping a hand over Eowyn's mouth. She didn't realize that Eowyn was putting on a show to entertain her, didn't remember that Eowyn was hurting just as much as she was.

The tension and testosterone in the air when they arrived was thick enough to cut with a knife. Theoden and Aragorn were facing each other down, but when Eowyn and Amy entered the room everything deflated. Eowyn looked puzzled. "Is everything all right?" she asked curiously. Theoden shook his head wearily and sat down at the head of the oaken table.

"No, my dear," he said with a heavy sigh. "Our people will make for Helm's Deep at first light," he added, spearing a glance at Aragorn, who sat down stiffly. Amy sat down at the opposite end of the table, determinedly away from the rest of the group. Their conversation continued in low mumbles, unreachable by her ears. She picked glumly at her food, not really wanting to eat. It looked delicious - slabs of thick juicy meat, slathered in butter, baskets of hearty loaves, piles of squash and what looked like a jambalaya of vegetables. A whole roasted duck was being passed around, and a pot full of some kind of dark sauce was being put on top of it.

Legolas could hardly believe his eyes. What had happened to the sobbing, uncontrollable girl which he had attempted to comfort a mere three hours ago? Sitting away from the rest of them sat a slender, red-haired woman with dark green eyes and a freckled visage. She carried herself haughtily, back straight, neck slightly bent in a manner of disdain, thick lashes lowered as she poked miserably at her food. It was the first time he had seen her wear a dress - it was the color of frosted silver fir trees, scooped low over her neck and trimmed with lace. A dark green corset - matching her eyes perfectly - firmed her stomach and flared her hips. She was no longer a girl. He flicked his eyes back to his plate, deciding not to look at her again until he could control himself better. He silently vowed not to speak with her at all, to save his already shredded self-control.

Sam entered dramatically, with a bang and a slam. She was wearing a purple velvet dress, backless, her brown hair curled and piled on top her head. A corset had been used to thin her waist and plumpen her breasts slightly, but she was barefoot and scowling. Angrily, she took a seat in the middle, growling to herself and ignoring the looks of the men. She didn't spare any of the delicacies, chewing sourly on the bread and meat alike, still grumbling to herself. Evidently she had been forced to wear a dress and was quite unhappy about it. Several times she glanced at Amy, wondering if the redhead would deign to answer her, but Amy looked at nothing but her plate the entire evening. When she was finished pushing the food around on her plate, she rose and left without a word. Theoden watched her leave. "Something troubles her?" he asked Legolas, who was breaking his rule and watching her departure with interest.

"Yes." Legolas said shortly. "Times are hard for women in this era." He hedged, unwilling to dispose the real reason of Sam and Amy's argument. "It stresses their already delicate nerves."

Unfortunately for Legolas, Sam heard this. "Delicate?" She spat, sitting up straight. Her dark eyes were glittering and sharp. "_Delicate_? I'm a lot of things, buster, but I'm certainly not delicate. Call me that again and I'll _delicately_ knock your teeth out." She threw her napkin down bad-temperedly and flounced out of the room, pawing at the ribbons on her corset. Apparently she was disentangling herself before she even got out of the room properly. Theoden raised his eyebrows.

"Delicate indeed."

09

The leather harness that fastened Amy's scant belongings onto the horse felt worn and smooth under her hands. All around her, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people were saddling donkeys, mounting horses, or just walking down the road. The horse looked well-fed and glossy, the palomino coat gleaming in the new dawn, but it was _huge_. Amy was just wondering how she would get up onto the sleek expanse of back when she heard someone right behind her. "Do you need help?" A very familiar voice asked. Amy ground her teeth, scraping another millimeter from her molars. The last thing she wanted to do right now was talk to Sam.

"No, I can get up," she said, tones clipped and tight, a wound spring about to snap. "I just need -" she broke off, and scrambled up into the saddle. It was ungainly, and inelegant, and rather disgraceful, but she was sitting atop the horse without too much embarrassment. At least no one was laughing. " - a minute," she finished coldly. She looked down at Sam, who was looking up at her with solemn brown eyes. She had discarded the dress, as had Amy, and opted for roomier, more comfortable traveling clothes; namely, a jerkin and trousers.

"Hey, look, Amy," Sam said softly, almost inaudible over the roar of people around them. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just spring it on you like that."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Amy snapped. "Just forget it, okay? Forget it. Go find Aragorn or Legolas; I have no idea how to ride these things."

Slowly, Sam departed, shaking her head. How could she be blamed if Amy wouldn't listen to reason? She found Legolas and tapped him on the elbow. "Hey, I think your girlfriend needs help riding."

Legolas looked disgusted. "What is a _girlfriend_? If you're saying what I think you are, then no, she's not. But I understand your intent." he swept off with his fine Elvish nose in the air. Sam looked at him for a second, then snorted.

Elvish princes. No sense of humor.

09

She circled the place on the parchment with her finger. "Right here," she said firmly. A long strand of blonde hair skimmed the parchment as she tapped the small point on the map. "Send them about here, roughly, and you'll get them between Edoras and Helm's Deep. You want them to be close enough so they think they're getting there, but just when they get some hope, you crush them with...well, whatever they're called."

"Wargs," Saruman said absently, stroking his beard. "I am not certain this will work," he said, lying through his teeth. It was an excellent plan, a plan that would work, and he was upset his legs were too short to kick himself.

"We should have thought of this brilliant plan ourselves, my lord," Grima hissed from beside Lizzie, uncomfortably close to her elbow.

Saruman growled. His legs may have been too short to kick himself, but they were certainly long enough to kick Grima. Lizzie interrupted them before Grima began throwing a tantrum, as he was opt to do. "But I want two captives," she said firmly. "Sam and Amy need to be taken alive."

"Oh? Still have feelings for the incompetent wretches?" Saruman asked nastily. Lizzie sneered at him, cocking one eyebrow and curling her lip.

"No. But if you capture Amy, you get Legolas too. He's got a thing for her, at least he did before I left. And Sam..." she narrowed her eyes. What about Sam? Why did she want Sam here? Sam would ruin everything. "I can't change Sam's mind," she said slowly, "But I'm pretty sure about Amy. Anyway, I need a hostage of some kind."

"Why a hostage?" Saruman asked acidly. Lizzie chanced sticking her tongue out childishly. She knew Saruman wouldn't react to it - she was too important.

"Because, moron, we should always have a backup plan. That idiot Aragorn will do anything to save a damsel in distress - even though Sam's more like a dragon in distress - and he'll come to get them. Cut off the head, and you kill the body. It's like killing a snake." She smiled frostily. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go to bed. People who have all the brains need their sleep, you know." She swept away disdainfully, heading for the stairs.

She didn't make it.

She got up two flights before she had to bolt into a bathroom and throw up. She couldn't believe herself. There were moments where she realized what she was doing, sickening herself with her evil scheme, and there were other times she was astounded at her brilliance. It was one of the sick times now. She held her hair back as she emptied her stomach and sank against the wall, eyes filling with tears. She was organizing a plan that would kill innocent women and children. Babies. Girls no older than herself. And she was planning to hold Amy and Sam captive. What was wrong with her?

She didn't have an answer to that.


	9. Ripped Apart

**A/N: Enjoy this chapter!**

**WARNING: Possible Character Death. Your Choice.**

The sun stroked long fingers of heat across the golden heads of the citizens of Edoras. Horses lifted their legs tiredly, stirring dust clouds gently, the drab colors of the peasants scuffling their dirty, sandaled feet. Amy realized with a little quirk of amusement that she was the only redhead there - everybody else seemed to be a blonde or brunette. Not a one of the people of Rohan had black hair, she noticed with confusion. She stroked the proud, arched neck of her palomino horse, feathering her fingers through the coarse, tangled mane. She hadn't spoken a word all day, choosing instead to ride by herself, away from Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, Gandalf, and Sam. A wave of nausea passed over her again for the second time in as many minutes. She licked her lips dryly and her forehead began to break out in a strange sweat. She decided she was coming down with something. She swallowed hard, trying to battle her rising gorge, and buried her face in the mane of her horse, inhaling the sweet scent of hay and wild air.

Sam noticed her friend's slightly green face, shuddering body, and sweaty face. She wondered if she was going to be sick. Amy dismounted inelegantly, slithering down the side of the horse and bolting into the bushes. A few Rohirric women turned and looked sympathetically, but other than that she drew no attention. A few minutes later, she emerged, still holding her belly. Sam could have sworn she heard a groan, but over the marching of feet and the murmured noises, she couldn't be absolutely sure. Amy remounted her horse clumsily, making a face as she dug her heels into its sides. The horse began trotting once more, jostling Amy slightly as the redhead pulled away from the group. Sam wondered distantly what had happened. All this was driven from her mind when she heard the shriek of a woman, loud and wailing, ripple down the long procession of people. Aragorn was running down a nearby hill, hand on his sword, dark eyes flashing instantly to Theoden. "Wargs!" he cried. "Wargs, on the hill!"

Panic gripped the people of Rohan, and children began screaming. Women gathered their terrified children close to their breast, hiding behind wagons and horses as Theoden issued orders. "Eowyn! Bring the women and children to Helm's Deep!" he roared. "Now! Do as I say!" Eowyn gathered her skirts in her hands and began chivvying the women and children along, gathering stray girls and soothing hysterical mothers. The women and children began running for it, away from the men of Rohan who began unsheathing weapons. Amy dithered for a split second, unsure of what to do. Legolas whirled around, arrow notched to his bow, and glared at Amy. Without a word, he slapped the flank of her horse hard with the flat of his hand.

"Go!" he ordered, and Amy was nearly upended as the horse bolted, muscles flexing as it charged towards the mob of screaming women. Amy held on for dear life as the horse jarred her harshly, teeth knocking together, lips bloodying as she bit down on them. Risking a glance behind her, she felt her stomach drop.

Orcs, their slimy, slightly scaly bodies glistening with white war paint, were riding on gigantic furry animals. The wolves - or whatever they were - had a ridge of fur rising from their pointed ears to their stubby tail. A powerful barrel chest and tapered hind legs made them perfect for bulling into horses. A squashed muzzle, jagged yellow fangs, and ropes of saliva were all Amy was able to see before Eowyn caught her horse's halter. A child was placed in Amy's lap, and then another behind her. Confused, bewildered, Amy instinctively held the two children closer to her as she searched frantically for Sam. "Sam!" she shouted. "Sam, where are you?"

Sam had her dirk in her hand, trying vainly to fend off a warg. The huge fangs were snapping inches from her face, the rider's spear jabbing into the ground near her arms. Sam kept the warg at bay with her forearm, using every ounce of strength she had to keep him away from her vulnerable throat. A mighty paw slammed on her chest, and the air was driven from her lungs. In that same instant, Sam thrust her dirk into the soft belly of the beast, causing it to whimper and roll off her. She curled in a ball, trying to catch her breath, and she heard the whistle of the Orc's spear coming down. She closed her eyes and tensed for the impact.

_Whack!_

Gimli's axe came crashing through the Orc's body, driving it back two steps and slicing it roughly in half. The Orc looked down blearily at his intestines spilling over his horned feet, and died, collapsing into a puddle of his own blackened blood. Gimli hauled Sam roughly to her feet. "Damn you, lassie!" he shouted gruffly over the din of the battle. "Damn you to Mordor! Why the hell do you have to stay with the men, eh? Why can't you be smart and go with the women for once?"

Sam ignored the dwarf, and wriggled out of his grip, still panting. Adrenaline was thrumming through her system, making her feel _alive_. She had never felt this good. She sprang into battle again, knife smeared hideously with blood, and stabbed a warg in the flank. The creature yelped and wheeled around, teeth snapping for her shoulder, only to have both of Sam's boots connecting with it's neck. The Orc was trapped underneath the thrashing warg, and Sam put both of the writhing creatures out of their misery with a swift slash with her dirk. Everything was super sensitive - she could hear everything, smell everything, feel everything. Tiny details that would normally escape her jumped to high focus: the bristled hide of the warg carcass, the encrusted blood on the Orc's blade, the tinny shouts of the panicked women down the road, the squeal of horses.

She felt a gnarled paw scraped across the nape of her neck, fisting a handful of her tunic as she was jerked upwards. Mercilessly, she was thrown over the back of a warg, a gritty elbow digging into the small of her back. Her dirk was pinned to her side, and was wrested from her hand by a snarled Orc who was keeping her in place. She bit the warg savagely, filling her nostrils with the acrid stench of rotting fur. The Orc suddenly yelped and fell off the warg, and the pressure on her back vanished. She sat up, struggling for control on the bucking warg, and grabbed it by the ears. Behind her, she saw Aragorn tangled in the straps of the harness, scrabbling to free his boot. She slashed at the thick leather which was ensnaring her friend, and between the two of them they managed to get him free.

But it was too late. Warg, girl, and king were vaulted into space, borne aloft by nothing at all, the churning river beneath them a mere ribbon of white rapids.

09

_The burn of chlorine in her eyes. Echoes of children laughing. The tightness of her horrid purple bathing suit. The gritty feeling of concrete beneath her fingers as she gripped the edge of the pool, kicking in the water. Ducking her head beneath the waves and blowing bubbles, accidentally swallowing a mouthful of water. Emerging, coughing, spluttering..._

The world was icy cold, airless, wet...

_Lizzie's disparaging laugh, Amy's confident strokes through the pool. Sam, struggling to keep her head above water..._

Struggling to breathe...

_Amy's pink water wings keeping her aloft, Lizzie dabbling a toe in the shallow end. Sam pushing herself hard through the water, determined to best her friends..._

Head aching, blood seeping from a wound...

_Green-yellow water, smooth pool waves pushing her through the water, hauling herself, dripping wet, on the edge of the pool..._

Fingers scrabbling for purchase on a slick boulder...

_Breathless, diving back into the invitingly warm water, holding her nose as she was in midair for a few scant moments..._

Foamy water churning around her, hard sticks catching her tunic, falling beneath the waves again...

_Light..._

Blackness...

09

Amy swung herself off the horse with limited success, cradling the children close to her chest. A small golden haired boy was crying at her knees, and a girl no older than four was burying her face in Amy's neck. Amy shifted her position to better carry the little girl, keeping her balanced on one hip. She gripped the little boy's hand to keep in safe in the thronging people entering Helm's Deep, the hubbub of noise, people shouting for lost loved ones. The horse behind the odd trio whinnied a little, rearing slightly at the noise. Amy looked behind her fearfully, then strained to see any glimpse of Eowyn. The brave shieldmaiden would know what to do with the young children. And then she spotted Eowyn, her hands full of children, leading several mothers down the hill. Before Amy could go to her, a curly-haired woman rushed over to her. "Oh, thank the Valar!" the woman said, pressing her daughter to her chest. "Oh, Sunniva, I thought I'd lost you!" The woman kissed her daughter repeatedly, and then gave Amy a tight, hard, frantic hug. "Bless you! Bless you for keeping my daughter safe!"

She returned the hug awkwardly, watching the woman dart through the crowds on their way to the caves. Amy picked up the small boy, hefting him slightly, bouncing him on her hip. She instinctively kissed him on the head, holding him close as she waited for Eowyn to be level with her. The shieldmaiden was helping three other women carry a makeshift litter, and Amy saw a bleeding woman prone on the surface. "Eowyn! Eowyn, what do I do with -" Amy gestured towards the crying boy. Eowyn went white.

"This is his mother," She said, shouting over the hubbub. "Amy, take care of him. Get to the caves, hurry! We've no time to lose!"

Amy felt the crowd pushing her forward, the people of Edoras thrusting into a cold, hard, unforgiving world where children were orphaned and friends were ripped apart by powers unknown.


	10. A Debt Is Owed

**A/N: Enjoy! Tell me if I got the Valar/Animal pairings right!**

One eye opened.

That was the sum of his total strength, to just open one eye. Above him, a gray-white sky spanned the horizon, a blank easel waiting to be painted by brushstrokes of unnatural beauty. Light flooded his mind and soul, adding to the monumental ache that was hammering in every fiber of his being, washing away all coherent thought. He closed his eye once more, relishing the blessed, blessed darkness. He did not know how long he stayed, prone, on the muddied, frozen banks of the roaring river, but he knew that his strength was bleeding into the ground. cuts and bruises dotted his body, and his body felt tight from the water he had swallowed, but there were no bones broken, or so he could feel. Slowly, he pulled himself into a sitting position, trying to temper the headache that exploded behind his eyes.

Hesitantly, he cracked both his eyes open and squinted into the glaring light, which was dim, but light enough to send him into a spasm of pain. There had been a dream - he remembered Arwen more than ever, her porcelain features, ebony hair, raven locks falling around him in a curtain, the feel of her silken skin beneath his hands...And then it had dissolved into layers of pain. A warm muzzle whuffed at his tunic, tugging it with thick, square teeth, and a velvet nose rubbed along his face. He cracked open his eyes once more and saw the dark, patient eyes of Arod looking at him peacefully. How his horse had gotten down here he did not know, but all he cared about was the life be felt seeping back into his limbs.

He pulled himself upwards using Arod as a ladder, swaying, grasping tightly onto the coarse mane, his numb fingers tingling where he touched the sinewy beast. Painfully, he mounted the gentle horse and leaned against the proud, arched neck, the hard muscles, thick spine cradling him lightly. The horse went a few steps, then stopped, pausing, nose erect, snuffing the air. Aragorn looked around to see what the horse was looking at, and then saw it. At first, he thought it was the corpse of the Orc that had been dragged down with him, but then he realized who is was, lying in the shallows, tangled in a lover's embrace with a soaking wet warg.

Sam lay half in, half out of the rippling river, the warg piled on top of her, hands still clenched in her act of brutal defiance. Her shaggy brunette hair, her stupid, mussed, messy hair, was tangled in a sodden branch, tethering her to roaring river. The brute's maw was dangerously close to her throat, and her dirk was embedded in its neck. Her brown eyes were closed, cheeks pale and chest unmoving. He stumbled from Arod, dragging himself over to his friend, desperately pulling aside her stupid, stupid hair to find her pulse. His fingers pressed down hard on her neck, hoping against hope for the thread of life pulling through her neck.

One second.

Two.

_Nothing._

Three.

Four.

_Still nothing._

_Oh, Valar, save this girl..._

Five.

Six.

_She needs your help..._

A presence caught his attention. His eyes flicked upwards, and his breath caught in his throat. He stumbled backwards, falling on his elbows, backpedaling away from the ghostly apparitions in front of him. Before him, a huge, powerfully built, majestic silver stag stood, neck arched, fine nostrils sniffing interestedly at Sam's body. Beside it, a gigantic golden bear stood, colossal muscles rippling under thick, shaggy yellow fur, large eyes hard as diamonds and large as the Rohirric sky, sparkling with laughter and a deep, passionate flame. Completing the trio was a dusky black wolf, impassionate eyes flat and bored, looking at the dead body of Sam as though it were nothing more then trampled grass. Aragorn felt his heart stop. What was he seeing?

_Orome, the stag, Lord of the Hunt._

_Tulkas, the bear, Champion of Valinor._

_Namo, the wolf, Judge of the Dead. _

_Three are One. _

_One is Three._

_A debt is filled._

_A debt is owed._

Sam's eyes opened.

Back arched, one guttural breath. Air rasping through cracked, dry lips as her eyes shot open. She heaved a mouthful of water, spat it onto the grass, fingers loosening their deathly grip on the warg's broken body. She felt her wounds healing, aches disappearing as she twisted from underneath the weight of the dead wolf. She staggered to her feet, nearly falling into the bear, and then caught herself. She did not seem at all surprised as she regarded the stag, the wolf, and the bear. Her golden-brown eyes were firm and unemotional as she looked at the stag, the liquid black eyes meeting hers.

_You heard me. _

_A debt is filled._

_What debt did I owe you?_

_It was not to you, maiden, and it is not for you to question. Accept our gift. _

_I will._

Aragorn was frozen with shock, mouth dry, eyes wide as the animals melted before his eyes. Sam's body shook, a tremor passing through her body all at once, and then she collapsed, eyes closing. Aragorn's muscles loosened and he jerked to her side, turning her over and smoothing her wet brown hair away from her face. She blinked, the color flushing her cheeks, and looked at him. "Hey," she croaked, voice dry. "I'm alive."

"Elbereth," Aragorn breathed, eyes still wide. "By all that is sacred, Samantha, what happened?"

"I fell off a cliff, what do you think happened?" Sam snapped, getting to her feet unsteadily. She steadied herself against Arod, and met Aragorn's eyes once more. "What?"

"You are blessed," Aragorn whispered. "Blessed by the Valar."

"I know that," Sam said irritably. "It's not every day someone falls off a cliff and lives. Now, c'mon, we need to get to Helm's Deep."

"Do you remember what happened?" Aragorn said, swinging himself into the saddle, still in shock. "Do you remember what you saw?"

"Do I remember falling off a cliff? No, I try to forget things like that," Sam said sarcastically. "Yes, I remember that I fell off a cliff! What are you trying to do? Test my brain? Yes, I remember my name. I remember two plus two. Now can we get on with this?" She pulled herself onto Arod, who backed up a step in protest. Aragorn gripped the reins, puzzling over what happened. Had he imagined it? Had Sam?

He didn't know how to answer these questions.

09

Amy held the young boy close to her chest. He was fast asleep, worn out from his crying. Eowyn was settling everyone into rows, putting mothers with their children, keeping them in groups of ten and fifteen. A distant part of Amy's mind admired Eowyn's organizational skills, but she knew that the shieldmaiden was operating purely on frantic, frenzied energy. Amy was surrounded by weeping women, clinging to their children as stone-faced soldiers swept through and began examining the strongest, likeliest looking boys and teenagers. Amy was horrified at the youth of the boys. Some of them looked twelve or thirteen years old. She hugged the boy closer to her and shook her head fiercely when a soldier approached her, concern knotting his brows.

A familiar face broke through the crowd, well-known blue eyes searching for her. Amy's eyes met with Legolas, who approached her rapidly, weaving through the crowds. He crouched before her, looking at the slumbering, fitful orphan who was cradled in her arms. He reached out and caressed the child's head, and the boy stirred. Legolas cupped Amy's face. "Amy, little warrior," he whispered. "You must be strong."

"What?" she asked, panicking as she saw the sorrow in his eyes. "What is it?"

"Aragorn...fell. He, an Orc, and a warg fell from a cliff." He took a breath, waited, scraped up the courage to tell her. "Amy, Samantha fell with him."

_No._

She saw in his eyes it was true. Horror gripped her. No. No. No. "NO!" She shouted, startling the boy awake. He began to cry. "NO! You're lying!" She shot to her feet, the boy crawling to one side. "NO!"

He held her as she shrieked and sobbed, body taut as a broken spring, fists clenching handfuls of his tunic as she screamed her grief to the heavens. He held her as she broke in his arms. He held her as she died, little by little, inside, as her world around her was crumbled into nothingness, blackness, a dying, deathly pallor that bleached life from her soul and her heart. She would never be pieced together, never be whole again. Her heart broke inside her, never to be repaired.

Because Amy was now alone in the world.

**A/N: Okay, question to answer: What debt do you think Orome was filling when he healed Sam? The right answer will get a one-shot dedicated to them, any genre!**


	11. Capturing Eternity For A Moment

**A/N: Please review. I'm feeling really uninspired right now. I'm hoping something drastic will get your attention, so that's what I put in the end. Enjoy. I don't think this chapter came out well at all, but you can be the judge of that.**

* * *

><p>Aragorn and Sam rode into Helm's Deep at the sound of wild, tumultuous applause, the roaring of people, faceless mobs yelling their triumph at the miraculous return of their leader. They didn't know Sam, but who cared? She had survived, and they applauded her as well, pale women patting Arod's proud neck, grim-faced soldiers grasping at Aragorn's tunic, children hoping for Sam to look down and meet their eyes. But Sam didn't feel like looking at anybody – everything was too loud, too close, the energy too high-strung and too full of fear. She could <em>taste<em> the fear in the air, a thrumming hive, a network of shimmering energy that buzzed around her. She shivered and burrowed closer to Aragorn, trying to pull farther away from the hands of jubilant people looking towards their savior. Aragorn dismounted, ignoring the hands of people that clutched at him reflexively, and helped Sam off the horse, although it was perfunctory. He then limped swiftly through the crowds, pushing his way through, and Sam followed him, her long legs carrying her away from the people. She saw Arod rearing slightly, trying to back away from the frenzied mob, and then she ducked her head and continued forward, trying to keep Aragorn in sight. The city was crammed with people – there was not a single person indoors, everyone was out in the streets, saying tearful goodbyes to their fathers or sons, or cheering their friends to victory. Women passed dainty handkerchiefs to young boys, and others gave pressed flowers, dried beautifully between pages of books. Sam bulled her way through, and then stopped short.

Amy was sitting on the steps to someone's house, a child in her arms. The child was rosy-cheeked and fat, with messy blonde hair and snapping blue eyes, but his cheeks were tearstained and he was clinging to Amy's rumpled red curls. But the look on Amy's face horrified Sam – she looked dead, dried out, empty, like a shell, or one of the flowers being tossed to doomed soldiers. There were no tears in her eyes – this perhaps frightened Sam more than she would have thought possible. Amy _always_ cried. But there was a granite matureness to her face now, the round cheeks and pouting lips hardened and sharpened like a flint blade. Her green eyes were as large and empty as skies above, dull with grief and severed bonds. She jiggled the boy on her knee a few times, reflexively, calming him and even enticing a smile on his face. He was perhaps four or five, by Sam's haphazard guess, and easily entertained. Sam swerved, and changed directions, heading straight for her friend. She met her eyes, and saw the slow melting of the flint on Amy's face, the dim recognition as she swallowed Sam's familiar features, the disbelief sketching across her eyes like frost on a pond.

Was it true?

Sam was there, real and solid, in front of her, shaggy brown hair cupping her cheeks, slender, willowy figure lean and lazy, golden-brown eyes languid and smiling. Her Cheshire-cat grin was curling the corner of her mouth, the trademark smile that she only used when she was wholly satisfied, like a cat lapping at a saucer of cream. Time slowed to an infinite length as Sam came over, ducking through the crowds, her feline grace carrying her chin erect and her posture straight, thumbs hooked into her pockets. She paused when they were very close, waiting, one eyebrow arched. Amy froze. She didn't want the illusion to end, wanted it to keep on going. If she reached out and touched her, would she disappear like smoke in a summer breeze?

And then Sam reached out and touched _her_, hand nudging Amy as though testing to see if she was awake, and Amy shattered. The child slid off his caretaker's lap when she got up, and stood there look bewildered at the two girls hugging like no tomorrow. Amy found her voice and suddenly shrieked in triumph, wrapping her arms and legs around her friend, nearly bowling her over. "You were dead! You were dead!" she kept yelling, over and over, burying her face in Sam's neck and sobbing her heart out. Sam, slightly embarrassed at the demonstrativeness of her friend, chuckled several times and set Amy down on the ground. Amy kept crying, her nose running, and she jerked her sleeve across her eyes. "You were dead," she repeated, under her breath.

"I'm like a bad penny," Sam said, wide grin curving her mouth. "I keep comin' back."

And Amy knew, down in her soul, that Sam wouldn't leave again. Sam would stay next to her, and be her rock in the middle of this hell, this storm that was raging around them.

* * *

><p>A deathly quiet had settled over the city. Where there had once been frenzied pandemonium, there was utter silence. The distant rumble of the approaching storm was the only noise throughout the city, dark clouds creeping over the blank gray skies like ink spilling over a precious document. Ribbons of electricity threaded the dark clouds, and Sam could see the sheets of rain approaching far away to the west. She instinctively drew her cloak tighter around her, shaggy brown hair rippling slightly in the increasing wind. Aragorn was conversing in a low tone with Théoden, and she knew they were discussing something serious. She edged over to Amy, who was sitting holding the child closer to her. She looked so worn and motherly that Sam almost laughed. Amy looked completed with a baby on her lap. Legolas was watching her, his cerulean eyes veiled and hidden, and this gave Sam an unnerved feeling. He was watching Amy with such intensity that it might burn her up at any second. Sam marched over to him and nudged him in the side. "So, this might be goodbye," she said, clearing her throat, trying to make this as uncomfortable as possible. Truth be told, it hadn't hit her yet that she might never see Aragorn, Gimli, or Legolas ever again. They had been through so much, lost so many, that Sam was confident they could overcome this little blip.<p>

"It may very well be," Legolas said quietly. He looked at her, eyes solemn. "Lady Samantha, I do wish to compliment you on your strength and courage. There are not many women who could have undergone what you have. You have my eternal respect and admiration."

"Uh, okay," Sam said, shrugging. She wasn't one for flowery speeches, so she bumped him with her shoulder. "You're not bad yourself."

Further conversation was interrupted as someone – or something – knocked on the front gates. All heads swiveled in that direction, tense, waiting to see what would happen.

Slowly, a baby-faced Rohirric soldier hauled open the gates a crack, poking his head through. When he was not instantly decapitated, he opened the gates wider, flinging them open. What happened next shocked everyone, causing Legolas to cry out, Aragorn's jaw to drop, and Théoden to look momentarily surprised. Amy looked up, confused, and Sam felt her heart pause for a brief moment, jittering in her chest when silver-gray eyes met warm brown-gold.

For Haldir, Marchwarden of Lorien, was leading a battalion of elves through the gates of Helm's Deep.

They were dressed in full ceremonial battle armor – gleaming silver armor, purple cloaks with the hoods donned over their elegant faces, golden bows glistening wetly in the drizzle which was pattering the streets. Haldir's silver-blonde hair was damp, pulled back in warrior plaits away from his handsome features. A smile – more a smirk – twitched the corners of his mouth as he bowed slightly to Aragorn, who was standing there dumbly, as though Haldir had just kissed him on the cheek and begun to dance the can-can. "Hail, Aragorn, king of Gondor, son of Arathorn. I have a message from Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, and Galadriel, Lady of the Lorien Woods: Once elves and men stood united under one banner. We recognize your strife, and wish to rekindle the lost alliance between all men and all elves. We shall assist you in this battle."

He got no further. Aragorn found his motor functions but lost his tongue, and threw himself at the silver-haired elf. He hugged him once, fiercely, not the stiff, awkward hug of a usual man-to-man hug, but a full blown, wrap-both-arms-around-the-neck hug. Understandably, Haldir looked as though _Aragorn_ had just kissed him on the cheek and begun dancing the can-can. After a moment, Aragorn left him and began speaking rapid-fire Elvish to one of the lieutenants near Haldir. Haldir's eyes left the now-considered-very-odd Aragorn and met the sneering girl standing with her hands folded near Legolas.

His first response was wondering what happened to the spiteful girl who had thrown a rock at him back in Lothlorien. Standing before him was a _woman_, with messy brown hair hanging down her back, glittering brown-gold eyes, and lips curved into a smirk that matched his own. She was slender and willowy, dressed in masculine clothing – a tunic and leggings – and it suited her well. Belted to her hip was the dirk Galadriel had given her, and it seemed almost too plain next to her. There was an aura, the very air around her hummed with energy and something alien, strange and foreboding. Her brown eyes seemed fuller, deeper, with more meaning in them than before. She had been through the worst things life had to throw at her and conquered them, and she was a better woman because of it. She looked away from him indifferently, but it took every ounce of Haldir's stamina to tear his eyes away. Aragorn and Théoden were pulling him away, up the wall, towards the line of battle, and Haldir let his instincts take over. He had a war to fight.

A human wouldn't rule his thoughts while he was still breathing.

* * *

><p>Amy watched Sam follow the elves, trying not to look too interested in the handsome Marchwarden. Amy knew that look in Sam's eyes. The girl would follow him around like a puppy dog until something drastic happened. Usually this involved a brawl. But Amy had lost interest in the departing elves, and was more concerned with what they implied. Aragorn had a heart made of granite. He wouldn't hug someone unless they symbolized something huge. Amy was beginning to realize what exactly they implied. Aragorn thought they were going to lose. And by losing, he meant dying. Amy couldn't wrap her head around this. Her first thought was something along the lines of getting back home, and she couldn't help but feel a little relieved. Home was safe – there were no wargs there, no Orcs, no Uruk-hai, no immediate dangers except fights with her siblings. But there would be no action, no sweet plains of grass, no Fellowship, no Hobbits...No Legolas.<p>

She didn't want to leave Legolas. And she didn't want to lose him either. If he died, what would she do? Did she have any right to mourn his death? She knew he was more than a friend to her – but she knew that he didn't think the same things. He was a handsome prince, a blonde, beautiful elf with everlasting days and eternal good looks. What did she have? No money, no family, no bloodline, nothing but the clothes she wore and ugly freckles and hair that wouldn't stay combed. She didn't have any claim over him. She stood up abruptly, and met his eyes, gathering her young charge's hand in hers. "Legolas?" she asked softly, innocent baring itself in every cracked syllable. "Legolas...Are you...?"

He looked at her, eyes showing no fear, merely a gentle pain. He crossed the void which gaped between them and lowered his head, brushing back curls from her face. He was close, too close, and Amy felt a blush skim her cheeks. "Amy..." he murmured, softly, in her ear. "Yes, it is possible I could die."

"And Aragorn?"

"Everyone." He looked at her quietly, and then ruffled the hair of the young boy, who was looking at Amy with wide, trusting eyes. "Amy, I want you to promise. Whatever happens to me, don't let it stop you. Run away. Run away from the darkness, find someplace to hide." He touched her cheek with his knuckles.

"No," she whispered. "No, Legolas, I won't. I'm not leaving you." Her eyes were brimming with tears. "I'm not going to run away from my problems again. I'm staying with you."

Their foreheads touched, breath mingling on their faces, and Legolas tucked that beloved, hated red curl that was always falling in her eyes behind her ear. Amy thought of all the things she would miss about Legolas if he died. His laughter, the heated touches when their skin accidentally connected, his eyes, his good humor. But the only thing she could think of that she would regret not doing wasn't an option. She didn't want to promise anything, didn't want to give herself any false hopes. She didn't want to have him for a moment, only to lose him again. She wasn't going to torture herself that way. But she wanted something to remember him by, and this seemed like the best option. To Amy's slightly fuzzed brain (his body this close to hers was making her head foggy), this seemed like the most logical option.

So she stood on tiptoe and kissed him once, quickly, on the mouth.

It was hardly more than a peck, but somehow it lingered on his skin and lips, setting fire to every nerve ending and searing into his consciousness. She looked so nervous, so frightened of losing him, that he developed and employed the most reckless plan ever to spawn in his brain: He kissed her hard, ruthlessly, plundering her mouth in one quick movement. She melted in his arms, feeling like her legs were going to give way beneath him. He wanted nothing more than to keep kissing her forever, tangle his hands in her soft curls for eternity, feel her slender body press against his for all of time. And for a moment, they did just that.

For in the war-stricken streets of Helm's Deep, with the war about to plunge them into their graves, Legolas and Amy captured eternity and found each other.


	12. In The Middle

**A/N: Euch. I hate this chapter. I really, really, really don't like the way it came out. Enjoy anyway.**

* * *

><p>She buried her nose in the little boy's hair and inhaled. He smelled sweet, like hay and ruffled grass, and he smelled distinctly like a child. He was awake and alert, large blue eyes looking around anxiously. He was a beautiful little boy, with a coarsely sewn tunic and leggings, small, chubby fists clinging desperately to Amy's shirt. Amy couldn't stop the butterflies in her stomach, the irrepressible smile that kept emerging on her lips for a second. She had one small memory of him that would be treasured forever, that one moment where they could pretend there was no war, no Ring, nothing but each other. The little boy wriggled in her grip and made himself more comfortable. Amy leaned against the craggy wall, settling herself down in the corner. All around her, women bawled for their lost sons and husbands, children screamed for the missing siblings and fathers. Eowyn was comforting people, holding children, hugging grieving mothers, and generally trying to be in a dozen different places at once.<p>

Sam was lounging a few feet away, one leg pulled to her chest, the other stretched in front of her. She was chewing idly on a piece of hay, as if she were merely watching a cartoon instead of horrified women. Her shaggy brown hair shielded her eyes, but Amy knew what was glittering behind those mischevious brown-gold orbs. Sam wanted to fight; she could see it by that tiny display of impatience, that one finger tapping on the ground. Then she got up, pouncing on her feet as though the ground were an enemy to be conquered. "I'm going for a walk," she said, biting words off with the viciousness of a cougar. Amy looked at her, green eyes dull and completely unsurprised.

"You'll be killed," she said. She sounded tired and worn, wrung out from the traumatizing day she was experiencing, and didn't sound like she was about to stop her.

"No, I won't," Sam said confidently, pulling on her boots. She crouched by Amy and looked at her softly. "Amy, this is something I have to do. Its in my blood. I feel...right, when I'm in a battle. Like I'm supposed to be there."

Amy looked at her with uncomprehension and loss, grief veiling her eyes. "I'm not going to lose you, Sam," she whispered. "Please, not again. I already lost you once, and that was one time too many."

"You won't lose me," Sam said, trying on a little smile. It faded at the look on Amy's face. "I'll be fine. I have that dude's blessing, remember?"

"So you're going into battle because some guy blessed you?" Amy said, sounding appalled. "Look, I don't think you get it! Out there are people trying to kill you. Monsters, real monsters, are really killing people. Listen to me, Sam - You will die."

"No, I won't," Sam repeated stubbornly. "I still have another battle to fight. And I'm going to be useful. I'm not sitting around here doing nothing."

Amy suddenly sat up and her fingers moved to her neck. There was a brutal snap! as she pulled the necklace from her throat. "Then take this," Amy said, sounding unbelievably tired. "It might help."

The seashell necklace was knotted around Sam's wrist, and she stood up. "Take care of her," she commanded the little boy. "Be nice to my friend." With that, she turned and strode out, trying not to hear the sound of Amy's tears as her friend mourned.

Sam was beautiful, Amy thought distantly. Her shoulders were slightly broader than her own, athletic body lean and firm, willowy and slender. She was framed by the gauzy clouds of approaching rain, the drizzle spattering her shoulders. Sam turned the collar of her tunic up and strode into the storm, confident, proud, facing her death with dignity.

Amy knew this would be the last time she saw her.

* * *

><p>Weapons were easy to find. Sam strode quickly down the path, clambering down over rocks, and marched straight through the city. Nobody took any notice of her - they might have thought she was just another boy - and Sam was grateful. Inside an open door, there was the glowing embers of a raging fire, the blacksmith's shop holding weapons of all shapes and sizes. The place was entirely deserted - the whole city had a slightly eerie, dead, empty feel, like an old snakeskin. Sam crouched and hefted a sword - it wasn't anything fancy, a one handed sword that was heavier than Sam had expected. She swung it experimentally, sighting down the blade. Something alien was taking over, a gentle humming sounding in her ears. She tested the weight again, twirling it in the air. It was balanced, she decided, and it would do just fine. She didn't know how she knew it, but this thought didn't startle her especially. Armor was next - also remarkably easy to find. It took a few moments to figure out the leather buckles and metal straps, but when she was finished she felt like a knight.<p>

The helmet slid over her skull, cradling her head and a strip of metal passing over the bridge of her nose. When Sam glanced in the burnished bronze shield that acted as a mirror, she could see no trace of Sam left. There was a ruthless warrior, sword in hand, long brown hair sprawled over her armored shoulders. Two fierce brown-gold eyes glared from underneath heavy bangs and her helmet. Sam sheathed the sword, and looked around for any other weapons. A knife was slotted into her boot, and, after some deliberation, a short-sword was sheathed on her hip. The full-length sword would stay in her hand, her main weapon. Surprisingly, she was becoming used to the weight of the leather-and-metal armor. It didn't feel heavy. She examined the blade again, and this time she felt a cold trickle of fear.

A tiny, crudely inscribed stag was carved into the handle.

It could be nothing, she decided. But the stag brought back odd memories, deja vu that was very strange. Soemthing about a bear...and a wolf...but then it dissolved into sticky black nothingness and Sam left the blacksmith's shop.

The stairs to the top of the wall were taken two at a time, and Sam pounded to the top of the wall. Lined along the edge were men and elves alike, all with identical looks of grim, stoic fear on their faces. She pushed her way between two rather elderly looking men, peering down at the ground. Her heart almost stopped as she saw the immense hoard of Uruks standing silently before the walls of Helm's Deep. Above them, the skies split open and rain began to pour down, soaking into the already muddied ground, darkening the skies to an inky black, the ribbons of lightning whitening the skies, thunder hammering the earth. She felt someone half-turn her around, and a young soldier was looking at her. "Do you know how to fire a bow?" he demanded. Sam cleared her throat.

"No, not really," she admitted. The boy looked at her.

"Ever fired one?" he asked in a hushed voice.

Sam wondered if firing an arrow for fun at the school fair counted. "Yes," she said eventually. A bow was thrust in her hands, along with a quiver of arrows. Sam grumbled to herself as she strung the bow automatically, paying more attention to her own curses than to her hands. Quckly, she sheathed her sword and notched an arrow to her string. It was only when the feathers rippled against her cheek did she realize she had just completed three things she had never done before. She shivered a little, wondering what was happening to her. Had she been paying attention, she would have noticed the stag on her sword was glowing silver.

Aragorn began shouting orders in Elvish, and Sam kept her face turned deliberately away from him. The Uruks were slamming the butts of their spears into the ground, grinding out a harsh, hard rhythm. The old man next to Sam trembled, his arm aching from holding the strain, and the arrow shot from his fingers. It impaled a Uruk in the front line, causing him to fall backwards, black blood gouting from his throat. The Uruks began howling their anger at the pouring rain, and then they slammed forward, aiming for the gates. Arrows shot from the walls, and Sam followed suit, releasing her arrow. It struck a Uruk in the arm, between the links of his breastplate and his helmet, and she watched with satisfaction as he was trampled beneath the massive, throbbing hoard of his bretheren.

The battle for Helm's Deep had begun, and Sam was in the middle of it.

* * *

><p>On a hill to the north of Helm's Deep, one of the many jutting from the sheer cliffs that hemmed the city inside, stood three figures. A golden haired man, with no weapon or steed, was standing, his arms folded, a little smile quirking his mouth. To his right was a tall, sallow-skinned, black haired man riding on a massive black horse, larger than the most powerful draft horse and more sinewy that the strongest Morgan. To their left, a a finer horse and its master sat. The horse was golden in color, shimmering with glossy fur and its striking aura. The slender legs danced impatiently, and the fine, smooth nose tossed from side to side. Comparing the two horses, the black was power, sheer might in itself, while the golden one was faster than the seven winds themselves and more spirited than the sunshine. A man was dark brown hair stroked the proud neck of the golden horse, his sharp eyes focused on the distant battle.<p>

"She is out there," he murmured.

"Why do we care if a human child is in a battle?" Namo asked idly, lazy eyes half-lidded as he examined the battle with interest.

"Because I take an interest in her. They are not of this world." Orome answered waspishly.

"She has spirit," Tulkas laughed, a rich, deep, booming laugh. "And she reminds me of someone," he added, glancing quickly at Orome. The man sniffed.

"We are similar," Orome allowed tersely, "And if I have my way, Namo, she will not be human for long."

"You plan to bless this child?" Namo asked, surprised, one delicate eyebrow arched.

Orome waited impassively.

"You already have." Tulkas said, and then groaned. "Orome, my friend, think for once. Why a woman? Why now? Why this girl?"

"Because I know her," Orome said. "And I know of her world. I wish to know how they came here, and why. And when I find out, I shall make certain that no person or think can pass through into our world again."


	13. Blessing Of Orome In Action

**A/N: Enjoy...Still don't like this chapter...my muse is officially gone...but I want to keep updating for you guys...Review if you feel up to it.**

_Strength._

_Courage._

_Honor._

The rasp of the flighted arrow against her cheek. The slender silk of the arrow shaft between her fingers. The tension between her shoulders as she aimed, drawing back the bow, letting it fly. Everything was sharply defined - she could taste the fear in the air, primal, musky, deep - she could see the savagery in the Uruks eyes as she slew them. The slam of ladders falling against the wall, wood grinding into stone, hefty plants digging into the slightly chipped stones. Grappling hooks, cruelly hooked metal, twisted with brute force, crunching into the walls, sometimes spearing an unsuspecting soldier along the way. Sam saw death all around her - dying Uruks, dying Rohirric soldiers, dying skies, the rain dying down. She tasted it in the fabric of the air, the fear, the death, the raw hatred. The metal cables were impervious to sword blades - there was nothing to do except wait for the Uruks to climb up the walls. The first one surfaced, ugly teeth bared in a hideous grimace, chipped metal scimitar in hand. Sam brought down her bow bluntly on its head, spiked end digging into the eye socket of the Uruk. It wailed and released its grip on the wall, plummeting fifty feet, seventy-five, to its death as it crushed the seething masses of Uruks below it. Sam looped her bow over her back, unsheathing her sword. The next Uruk was met with a forceful boot, and then a harsh stab to its neck. This was what she lived for, the thrill of battle. Never did the thought of dying enter her head - she felt too alive for that. Exhilaration thrummed through her veins, adrenaline surging like a cresting wave.

He saw her, then.

It was almost impossible not to see her, stupid woman.

She was far from beautiful, drenched in Uruk blood from the neck down, black spots dotting her cheeks, a rusty sword gripped in her hand. The bow strung over her back was of some terribly made material, most likely fashioned on the morn of battle, and it was a surprise she hadn't broken it yet. She was moving faster than he had expected a mortal to move, hacking away at Uruks as the poured over the wall. Blows didn't seem to impact her - there was a hard, slippery shield around her, an aura of pure silver. An icy shiver stroked down his spine when he saw it, the hammering blows bouncing off her shoulders. He had three thoughts in quick succession, all of them unrelated and frantic, disappearing like startled birds from a hunter.

_The blessing of Orome._

_Damn that girl, can't she listen?_

_She's going to be killed_.

Within seconds he was next to her, shoulder to shoulder, as Uruks came at them in waves. "Damn you, woman!" he roared over the noise of battle. She spared him a glance, golden-brown eyes flashing with delight. Delight? In a battle? Was she mad? A grin, exposing her teeth in a feral smile, decorated her features.

"I've been damned before," she called back, sword changing directions and carving an interesting looking pattern in the Uruk's neck. "You look terrible," she added, ducking as a mace slammed against the wall where her head had been. Haldir looked at her, absolutely appalled.

"What are you doing out here, you foolish girl?" he shouted, his twin swords singing through the air, meeting in a lethal embrace at the back of a Uruk's neck. The question went unanswered as their attention was drawn to an earth-shattering crash that ripped through the heavens. A battering ram, larger than a tower and thicker than a small cottage, was slammed against the mighty gates. The Uruks drew back, and then charged forward again, sending the men behind it sprawling. More orders from Aragorn were yelled over the noise, more orders that Sam didn't understand, but arrows were flashing once in the skies and then burying themselves in the Uruks holding the ram. Several fell from the pathway, sprawling in a lazy gesture across corpses as they died.

It was all so confusing and loud - suddenly her hearing was playing tricks on her, first screaming so loudly she could hardly think, then subsiding to distant whispers. Her vision was acting up as well - things were sharpening, edges becoming more defined. She could see to the edges of the Uruk's armor over half a mile away, see them falling to their deaths. For the first time, fright began creeping into Sam's mind. What was happening to her? Her senses were going in and out like a bad radio dial, and then suddenly everything snapped to focus. A goblin, loping inelegantly, was carrying a torch, two lines of Uruks keeping him sheltered with their bodies. Aragorn was practically screaming now, shouting frenzied orders in Elvish. Far along the wall, Sam spotted a golden-haired elf - most likely Legolas - aiming downwards, firing rapidly at the goblin.

It was too late.

The goblin ran, three arrows arched in his back, and the whole world exploded.

09

Lizzie slowly watched her world crumble around her. Ents of gigantic proportions were hurling rocks at the tower, the impact shaking Isenguard to its roots. The few guards stationed at the dam hadn't helped - they had been squashed to a smear. Water was churning, foaming, bubbling around the tower, filling in the huge gouges the Orcs had made for their tunnels. Corpses were floating on top of the grimy, filthy, dirty water - as a general rule, Orcs and Uruk-hai didn't really know how to swim. Lizzie felt frustration build inside her until she could explode. She slammed open the door, storming down the hallway to the room where she knew Saruman was having a mental breakdown.

He was.

Perched on his balcony, swearing, tugging his beard, darting back and forth, he looked like he had just missed his period (Well, except for the beard part). Lizzie felt like that too, but she didn't want to show it. "Calm down, old man," she snapped. He whirled on her, fists clenched around his staff.

"You! This is all your fault!" he shouted. He was actually crying. What a baby.

"No, it's not," Lizzie sneered back. "If you had _listened_ to me and actually put more guards near the dam, you wouldn't be having this problem. You're the idiot, not me."

"No, no, all gone, all gone," Saruman sobbed, tearing fistfuls of his hair. Lizzie pinched the bridge of her nose. Such a drama queen.

"Look, you moron, send me to Mordor." She ordered. Saruman peeped between his fingers. "Send me to Mordor, you imbecile," she repeated. "Before the water gets too high. Those idiots in Helm's Deep are going to come to Isenguard, and I'm not going to stay here and wait to get slaughtered."

"Take me!" Saruman pleaded. Lizzie curled her lip at him.

"Why would I take someone who doesn't obey orders?" she smirked. "No, I think I'm a little more valuable to Sauron." She paused at the doorway. "Oh, and by the way - keep an eye on Grima." She gave him a triumphant sneer which filled her eyes with malicious light. "I don't think he likes you very much."

09

She picked herself from the rubble, swiping blood and matted clumps of hair viciously from her eyes. The wall had disintegrated beneath her feet, exploding in shards of stone and the mortar. There were Uruks swarming through the gap in the wall, and hundreds of Rohirric soldiers were crying out that wall had been breached. She caught sight of shimmering silver hair and ran over to him, sword at the ready. Haldir didn't have time to look at her - his shining silver swords were whirlwinds, slicing, hacking, cutting, all in a single fluid movement. With his hair fanning out behind him, he looked like liquid light. Sam was far more crude, her techniques rather unrefined, but she was back to back with him, their armor's grinding together for brief seconds when they changed stances. Uruks were pressing in from all sides, and their blades could not be everywhere at once. Sam suffered a deep cut to her upper arm, and pain penetrated the ecstatic energy. She cried out, sinking to one knee, yelping with pain. It was worse than the arrow Legolas had shot her with.

Someone was yelling something in Elvish, but she didn't know who. Haldir and his men began to slowly fight their way towards the Keep, retreating hesitatingly. Haldir looked at her, and hauled her upright by her shoulder. Wordlessly, he shoved her behind him and they began retreating.

She saw it a second before it happened, and there was nothing she could do.

A battle axe, the largest she had seen, was heading straight for Haldir's back.

She then concocted and performed the stupidest move in battle history.

With the miliseconds she had to spare, she kicked upwards with both feet, whacking the Uruk in the ankle and twisting the axe sideways. The flat, instead of the edge, landed on Haldir's back, and he howled, falling instantly to the ground. He probably had several ribs broken.

Now Sam was alone on the battle field, protecting Haldir's broken body, with Uruks piling in on her.


	14. Kicking Absolute censored

**A/N: Another short chapter, please forgive me. Muse has died. We had a funeral.**

The sword in her hand grew heavy after a while, causing her arms to slow down and deaden. She felt anchored to Haldir by some force she didn't quite understand, but the only mantra that she heard in her mind was _No Man Left Behind_. She wouldn't leave. She would stay, even if she had to fend off Uruk-hai for centuries. But the gash in her arm was drenching her armor in blood, her body was aching from numerous blows, and her head rang from exhaustion. Her mouth was dry as a bone, tongue feeling cottony and thick as she drove her sword to the hilt in yet another Uruk. Arrows sang around her, Elvish arrows, the fine, sharp tips finding their marks in the bloodthirsty Uruks. In the distance, the battering ram still rammed against the gates, splintering into the wood with a shattering thud. A young ellon, his platinum blond hair swinging in his eyes, came bounding out of nowhere, bow in his hand, quiver almost empty. His icy blue eyes fell on Haldir, and he sprang to his side. "Warden!" he gasped, cradling Haldir's face in his hands. The broad-chested ellon made no response save a indistinct mumble, and the younger lieutenant swore loudly. He looked up to see Sam sent sprawling a clear three feet in the air, only to have her flight cut short by the unforgiving armor of another Uruk. The girl seemed dazed, wielding her sword clumsily as she attacked the monsters who were bellowing war cries. A sheaf of brown hair fell in her dull eyes, and she got to her feet with bitter slowness.

The Uruk she had slammed into pawed her aside, knocking the air from her lungs, denting her armor, and driving her to her knees, starved for air. Her insides were burning, her eyes were leaking tears from the soot in the air, and _why was her damn hearing slipping out of focus?_ Things were dissolving into fuzzy spirals, and then she remembered, the memory blossoming slowly up from miles of treacle which was filling her mind. Something about a whistle. Yes, there was definitely a whistle. She felt someone hauling her to her feet, and then she blinked fuzzily. A young elf was shouting something at her, twisting her arm uncomfortably, shoving her roughly towards the gates. She shook her head like a dog ridding water from its ears. She wouldn't leave Haldir with some little wet-nosed idiot. Again, the memory of the whistle flew to the front of her mind. She ducked the swinging blow of a Uruk's axe and rolled between the legs of another, mouth finding the small, intricate seashell on her wrist. She gathered up what little air she had in her lungs and blew hard and long.

The whistle's noise shrieked through the skies, sounding uncannily like a policeman's traffic whistle during rush hour. The thunder rolled in response, lightning splitting the skies in its anger, rain pelting down once more on the earth. She blew once more, harshly, giving it every breath she had. Every fiber of her was hoping, praying, wishing, as she got to her feet. What would happen? Would someone come rushing up to save her?

Aragorn cursed under his breath as he supported Haldir. The silver-haired elf was doing his best to walk and carry himself upright, but he was only semi-conscious and muttering indistinctly. The ellon was of a good height, taller than Aragorn himself, and broader as well. It was no easy task to half drag him across a battlefield into the secured fortress, trying to fend off Uruks with one hand as he pulled the badly wounded Marchwarden into the gap Legolas was creating for him. Everything would have gone very well until Legolas turned to him, eyes wild. "Sam!" he shouted. "Sam's out there!"

_Damn the girl_, Aragorn thought to himself, and dragged Haldir into the Keep, laying him down near a rapidly growing pile of moaning, injured soldiers. He sped back out the door, sword flipping in his hands, and bulled his way through the seething mass of Uruks. His strength was waning, but he couldn't leave Sam out here. Foolish, stupid, brave girl. He kicked a Uruk in the chest with the butt of his sword and stabbed another in the neck with the business end in the same movement, tearing his way through the mobs. He saw her, lifting a sword much too big for her and driving it into a Uruk's belly, hewing a lethal wound in the monster's gut. Her helmet had fallen off, and lay gouged by some foreign demon's claw marks along the sides. He didn't want to think how much damage that would have done to her face if she had not been wearing her helmet. And then, revealed by nothing more than the flick her her hair as she twisted uncomfortably around, he saw something the made him hesitate for the flicker of an eyelash.

Were her ears _pointed_?

It was a trick of battle, he said to himself, as he forcibly dragged Sam through the doorway, slamming it shut behind Legolas. Nothing more than that. She was a wildcat, spitting obscenities and growling to be let go, and he released her arm only to slam her against the wall. "Stupid child!" he roared at her, crushing her to the hard wall with both his hands and his full weight. His face, scarred and stubbled, was inches from hers. "Stupid, stupid child! Do you not have sense? Why did you leave the caves, why? You could have been killed!"

"I wanted to," Sam spat, blood from her chewed lips painting her chin a dark crimson. Unknowingly, she had gnawed her lips until blood flowed from the ferocity of her concentration. Her teeth were stained a terrible scarlet from her wounded mouth, and Aragorn saw that her sleeve was dripping blood onto the already blood-stained stone floors. "I wanted to, and

you can't stop me!"

"Stupid, ignorant child!" he repeated, at a loss what to say. He wanted to strike her, shake her, make her understand how much they would have lost if she had died. But he couldn't. He wouldn't bring himself to hit her. He would never hit a woman. "Did you not think? Think of what Amy would have done had you died! Think for once!"

"If you sit around thinking, you'll rot of old age!" Sam retorted. "Action means _now_!"

Aragorn spun her around, clamping a hand on her shoulders, showing her the room they had entered. Dozens of men lay screaming for the release of their pain, some of them missing arms and legs. Many lay entirely still, and still others were being neatly arranged, blankets being pulled over their heads. "See these men?" he growled at her. "These men used action, and see what happened to them? You go into a battle with heart, but you fight a battle with brains! You did not think, child!"

"We're all going to die anyway!" Sam said, ripping herself free from Aragorn's grip and spinning around to face him. Her gold-brown eyes were dark with rage and wet with unshed tears. "We're all going to die! Look, look at them out there!" She pointed to the door they had just come through. The white noise of battle, the awesome snarls of Uruks, the colossal roars of enraged beasts, thudded through the walls. Above it all, the steady, continuous thump of the battering ram hammered through the noise of the pain and the rain and the death. "All of us! We're going to die! I'm not going to die sitting on my butt crying! I'm going out there and kicking some ass until I can't move anymore! Maybe it's smarter to stay safe, but it's braver to fight! And I'm going to fight until the end, got that? And _you can't stop me, damn it!_"

He stopped seeing her as a child from that second onwards.

How could he mistake her for anything but what she was?

Warrior.

Friend.

Hero.

And then, a fact that filtered briefly through his anger: her ears were most definitely pointed.

Theoden watched his city crumble to ruins around him, staring at the door which was being boarded by his men. Their movements were frantic, frenzied - much like the mob of Uruks outside. Dying men trying to save a dying city. He felt a hand on his shoulder, saw Aragorn next to him. The man was breathing hard, as if he had just run a long distance - or fought harshly with a friend. Theoden looked away, looked towards the hurried movements of his men as they blocked the doors. "It's over," he said, his voice weak and cracked. "Rohan has fallen. The race of Men is finished."

Aragorn handed him his helmet, forcing it into the crook of his arm. His eyes were alive with eager anticipation. "Rohan still lives while we draw breath," he commanded the king. "We shall fight, and we shall fight until there is not a single man left alive."

Theoden heard an unfamiliar voice behind him. It was higher, a woman's voice, but undeniably smug. "Yeah. And we're gonna kick ass."

Aragorn met Sam's eyes, giving her one brief nod. They would die honorably. Bravely. As warriors.

"Exactly."

09

Horses were mounted. There was the smell of death, blood, tears, and hot horse inside the once-great Hall of Kings. Theoden mounted his horse, knowing that it might be the last time he ever got on a horse again. Aragorn swung himself into Arod, Sam clambering atop another horse from a fallen captain. Legolas and Gimli were waiting on their horse, and Gimli was debating on whether or not to give Sam a what-for before they all died. But when the doors shattered and the Uruks came pouring inside, he decided it didn't much matter.

The sun rose, one blindingly brilliant orb pulling itself laboriously into the sky, hoisting itself as deep gray clouds skirted to the sides. Radiant beams of light shot down from the skies as Theoden, King of Rohan, and Aragorn, King of Gondor, made their final charge. The stained glass window broke as the two lines met in the last stand against Uruks, the race of Men throwing up a brave fight. Sam felt herself surge forward with the rest, screaming absolutely unrepeatable war cries that would have shocked even the most foul-mouthed sailor, and the two sides clashed.

Up on the hill, a white horse reared and kicked at the skies.


	15. The Way It Will Always Be

**A/N: Last chapter! Enjoy! Summary and title for Return of the King will be at the bottom of the chapter. It might be better just to put me on Author Alert, so you won't miss it. :) **

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><p>She slept fitfully, in spurts, with the child cradled close to her body. He slept like a rock, worn out from his tearful sobbing throughout the last few days. Amy had done almost nothing, but she wasn't bored. She was empty, hollowed out - as if she were one of those Russian dolls which splits in half to reveal a smaller doll inside. There weren't any thoughts in her head, except a dim, shapeless worry for her friends and the desire to bury her nose in Legolas's tunic and never let him go. She lay on her side, curled in the corner, the thin blanket that Eowyn had given her wrapped around the child. She was freezing, but he was snug and warm. He needed it more than she did. The caves had become achingly silent, quiet except for the odd exclamation from a distraught mother or child. Amy never made a noise; she just lay there and watched them pacing back and forth, wringing their hands. Little clusters of people huddled together, sharing memories and trying to keep themselves in good spirits. They had offered to take the child from her - as it was obviously not hers - but Amy had refused, instead holding the child a little tighter and a little closer. She closed her eyes, and memories of Sam and Lizzie battered against her eyelids like moths frantic to escape. Without knowing it, she fell asleep again, arms curved protectively around the little boy, her untidy mop of red curls pushed away from her neck, her dark lashes curled sweetly against her pale cheeks.<p>

He watched her, crouched in front of her, looking at her while she slept. Even while sleeping, she had a little knot of worry between her slender brows - worry for him, he realized with a little jolt. The women around him were buzzing for news, flowing out of the caves like water, in search for their missing loved ones. Already, in the city of Helm's Deep, a wailing was starting - deep, throaty, horrified. The mourning for their slaughtered sons and fathers was rising over the city like a dark plume, smoke from a fire. The corpses of Uruks lay in heaps around the city, piled messily, pools of their black blood clinging to the ground like a disease. She had bruise-colored circles beneath her eyes, and her freckles stood out sharper and clearer than ever due to her pale face. The child cradled in her arms was beautiful, with fat golden curls and rosy cheeks; but his eyes were pink from crying and there were dirty tear-tracks down his face. There was so much broken, so much to be fixed - but right now, all that mattered was her, Amy, the woman who was slumbering in a corner while women screamed their tragedies around her. He touched her neck with his hand, pushing away a few stray curls and tucking it behind her ear, and her eyes flickered open. As soon as she saw him, she sat up. "Legolas!" she cried out, unable to keep her voice down. The child woke up and she soothed him by giving him a quick hug. But her eyes were full of the warrior in front of her, still wearing his armor, his blonde hair plaited behind him, those blue eyes tired but triumphant. His quiver was completely empty, and his bow had smears of blood - both human and Uruk - along the length, but he was alive. Vibrantly, blessedly, beautifully alive.

"How are you?" he asked, looking at her carefully. He frowned. "You haven't been eating."

"How could I?" Amy retorted, setting the child down and covering him once more with the blanket. She realized how tall Legolas was - he towered head and shoulders over her. "I wasn't exactly in the mood for eating. How's Sam? How's Aragorn? And Gimli? Are they okay?"

"Samantha went out into the battle," Legolas said slowly, "And she suffered minor injuries. Nothing serious," he added quickly, to assuage Amy's terrified squeak. "Aragorn and Gimli are relatively unscathed, although quite battered and bruised. Everyone is alive, Amy." He gave her a smile that was a little too knowing for her liking. "Including me."

Words failed her. She threw her arms around his middle and hugged him, burying her face in his armor. It was sort of uncomfortable, but she wanted to reassure herself that he was here, alive, solid, safe. She was crying again before she even knew it. He tilted her chin back and wiped her eyes with his thumb. "You weep when I leave and weep when I arrive," he noticed mockingly.

"Idiot," Amy said, contenting herself with pinching his bicep. "I'm happy that every one's alive. We won? How? I mean, there were so few of us..."

"Eomer and his men arrived with Gandalf at the critical point," Legolas explained. "With their help, we chased the last remnants from the city and managed to secure the gates once more. Come, you should go to the Healing House. Samantha and Haldir are there."

"Haldir? How is he?" Amy asked quickly as she knelt down to gather up the child in her arms. He stirred sleepily and nestled his chin in the crook of her neck, settling himself against her. She leaned him on her hip and Legolas noticed with a little warm flare of pleasure that she looked perfect with a child in her arms. Amy was meant to be a mother.

"He suffered some harsh injuries," Legolas admitted, "But nothing that bed rest and good Healers can't fix. Elves heal quickly - I would not be surprised if he was back training in two months."

"What happened?" Amy asked. Legolas helped her down the uneven rocky steps, liking how her free hand reached instinctively for him whenever the stairs crumbled or shifted slightly.

"As far as we can tell, Samantha saved his life. He broke several ribs, from what we could tell, but it is still alive. Alive, and very annoyed."

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><p>Haldir hated to be indebted to anyone. Especially, especially, <em>especially<em>, a woman who had charged recklessly into battle and saved his life.

That was annoying him very, very much.

But he couldn't help but notice her as she reacted angrily with the healers as they bandaged her arm - her armor was ruined, too dented and battered for recovery, and her tunic had to be cut off her because it was in such disrepair. When her willowy, tanned torso came into view (mercifully half-hidden behind a pair of simplistic breast bindings), he saw the mottled shades of bruising along her arms, back, and disappearing into her leggings. A deep cut, easily hewing her arm to the bone, was visible on her left arm. She hissed angrily whenever a Healer touched it, but they had dealt with cantankerous warriors before and managed to bind the wound and dress it properly without her biting their heads off. Her hair, her messy, tangled brown hair, was pulled back slightly to evaluate the wounds on her neck and back. It was then that Haldir saw the ears. Her ears were pointed, the slanted tips nestled against her mussed brown hair. He wanted to sit up in bed and shout to her, but even breathing was a strain. His chest felt as though there was a cave troll butting its head against his ribs every time he took a breath. So he had to wait, on pins and needles, while he watched Sam pull on a fresh tunic and saunter over, her usual lazy stride slightly offset by her limp. But her Cheshire-cat grin was in place, that smug, self-satisfied smile that crept over her mouth. She sat down on the edge of his bed and hooked her arms behind her head.

"So," she said after a split second of silence, "How'd it go?"

"Foolish girl," Haldir managed to spit out. He coughed once, wincing at the pain, and Sam reached for a pitcher of water. She tilted it slightly, and he swallowed the lukewarm liquid, allowing it to soothe his war-damaged throat. "Your ears..." he began, and trailed off. She reached up and pinched the points sharply, tugging at them. She frowned.

"Damn him," she swore under her breath. "He didn't say anything about giving me goofy ears."

"Who?" Haldir asked hoarsely. She was still cursing, muttering oaths to herself, but she finally collected herself enough to answer.

"This stupid guy...he blessed me, or whatever, and now I'm an elf. Damn. I should have never followed that stag." She continued in this vein under her breath until Haldir's expletive cut her off.

"What stag?" he asked, suddenly animated. He gripped her arm with surprising strength. "What did it look like?" She brushed him off and rubbed her bicep, glaring at him.

"You know, a stag. A buck. Silver, with a white chest, big horns, huge stag, like, as big as a horse. He belongs to someone - I forget his name."

"Orome?" Haldir spluttered.

"Hey, that's it. Yeah, Orome. Whatever, anyway, that guy blessed me and now I have these stupid ears." She tried to frown, with limited success, at her ears, which was no easy trick and only managed to make her look cross eyed.

"You're an elf," Haldir said, falling back onto the pillows. "I don't believe it."

"Neither do I," Sam sighed. "So, how are you doing?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"Other than the fact that my chest is going to implode, that most of my men are dead, and that I'm tethered to this bed for the next six weeks? I'm doing wonderfully, how are you?" Haldir snapped sarcastically. Sam scowled at him.

"Oh, so you think you're in _so much pain_, huh? So you're not such a tough guy. _I'm_ the one who used a sword and a bow." she said. Haldir managed to move himself an inch and narrow his eyes at her.

"I used _two _swords, _and _a bow." He told himself he was being petty, but he didn't care. He wanted to one-up her.

Sam smirked. "I saved your life."

Haldir sneered. "It wouldn't have needed saving if you weren't out there, elleth."

"I still saved your life, and I'm a _girl_."

Haldir coughed and sank back among the pillows. He couldn't beat that.

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><p>Amy picked her way around the cots that were half-heartedly shimmied against the walls. The cots looked unstable - the warriors inside them even more so. Some of the fighters were wholly unrecognizable, others raving and thrashing. Women were crying and shrieking the loss of their loved ones, and Amy fervently thanked whatever deity was listening that all her friends had pulled out alive. Legolas was slightly ahead of her, showing her the way towards Haldir's cot, where Sam would most likely be. Amy dodged a tall, broad-chested man with dirty blonde hair who reached for her elbow. "Lady?" he said. "That child..." he paused, and then looked at her. He had impossibly deep, rich, chocolate brown eyes, and his voice was silk edged with sand, a growl underlying velvet.<p>

"Uh, no, it's not mine," she said, hugging the child a little closer. "Eowyn gave him to me. His mom died, or something, and I don't know who is dad is."

The man patted the child's hair. "I know his father," the blonde man said slowly. "He is a brave warrior. Come this way," he headed in the opposite direction from where Legolas was standing, and arrived at a small cot. The man on the cot seemed relatively unharmed, but he wasn't moving an inch. Amy saw an oddly shaped mound on his left leg, and realized with a bolt of horror that his leg had been sickeningly mangled and twisted. The wounded man's eyes opened and he tried to sit up with a cry of delight.

"Eoforwine!" the man said, reaching for the boy, who instantly woke up and wriggled out of Amy's arms. The man took the child and held him tightly, burying his nose in the child's hair. He reached for Amy's hand. "Thank you, my lady. Thank you for returning my son to me," he had tears in his eyes. "I am in your debt. If there is anything, anything you need, you have only to ask."

"Thanks," Amy said, head spinning at the sudden turn in events. "But it's okay. I'm fine. I'm glad he's back with you." She turned around to find herself face to face with the heavily muscled man who had first seen the child.

"Would you like me to escort you back to your friend, lady?" the man asked politely. Amy felt her cheeks flush. Why were all the men here so chivalrous?

"Um, that'd be great," she said. "So, do you know Eowyn?" she asked as the lamest conversation opener in all time. However, the man seemed to take it as a joke. He laughed - a solid, rich laugh that pealed firmly from his chest like the contented rumble of a lion.

"Indeed. She is my sister," he said with a smile. "I am Eomer, Third Marshal of Rohan." He jerked his chin towards Legolas, who was standing in a corner, coolly evaluating Eomer with subtly distaste. "But I must make leave of your presence, for it seems as though you friend is impatient," he smiled. "May I ask your name, lady?"

"Amy," she said, trying on a smile. It felt strange and awkward on her lips - rusty, unused. "Amy Ricker. Nice to meet you, and everything, but I have a friend who's wounded, so..."

He held up a hand. "Say no more. If fortune smiles, we shall meet again." he turned and left with an important swish of his cloak. Amy swallowed hard and went over to Legolas, who was looking at her as though he were searching for something.

"I see you have been taken with Lord Eomer's charms," he said, tone sounding undeniably cold. Amy felt her hackles rise. Was he actually _jealous_?

"No, I just met him," she retorted. "Where's Sam?" She turned away from him. If he was going to tell her not to speak to Eomer again, she would slap him. She was in no mood for male possessiveness. But instead of growling at her, he touched her elbow lightly.

"Amy..." He looked at her, blue eyes worried. "You know I care for you, right?"

Amy felt something inside her ease. "Yeah, I know," she said, and turned her eyes downwards. "Can we see Sam now?"

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><p>The girls had a connection - forged through time and hardship, whetted by loss, and sharpened into a blade of lethal keenness during their time in Middle Earth. Sam knew every intimate detail about Amy's personality - Amy liked to pretend she knew Sam the same way, but Sam was too private to know everything about her. Amy knew that Sam only ate gummy worms when she was depressed; Sam knew that Amy only drank tea when she felt artistic, and Sam would prepare herself for a long debate about Faulkner vs. Melville. So it really was no surprise that Sam knew when Amy was in the room. There was a certain warmth that stole over her whenever the shy, awkward redhead was around - and she felt it now, stealing over her fingertips and humming down her toes. She turned and saw Amy, her unruly red hair pulled over one shoulder, vivid green eyes standing out happily in her pale, freckled face, her nervous little smile quirking her mouth. Amy looked at Sam, her thick brown hair plunging down her back, bangs almost shielding her honey-brown eyes. Her slow, lazy, Cheshire-cat grin was smirking across her lips as the two girls examined each other.<p>

Then all hell broke loose and then threw themselves at each other, crying, laughing, hugging, their tears mingling as Sam picked Amy up and squeezed her tightly, reliving the fact that they were friends, _best friends_.

And that's the way it will always be.

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><p><strong>Coming Soon!<strong>

**_Well Behaved Women Seldom Win Wars _**

**Lizzie is in Mordor, hatching her evil plot, Sam is an elf, and Amy is madly in love with Legolas. Oh yeah, and the world might end. How will Sam fill Orome's debt? Will Lizzie die? Will Amy actually act on her feelings?**


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